Customization Corner with Ms. Mackay

She slipped the half-eaten chicken on rye sandwich into the folded Telegraph someone had left on the seat beside hers, and dumped the greasy parcel in the first waste paper basket she passed as she got off the train. An elderly fellow glared at her as if she was doing something quite incomprehensible for him, and she nearly gave in to the sudden impulse of picking it up again just to see his face when it ended up on his lap. Feeling simultaneously edgy and sprightly like a teenager, with a digestion fit for a woman during her first trimester, was only one of quite a few telltale signs that spring was on its way.

Mrs. Bradley next door, for example, had donned one of her atrociously tasteless garden hats the last time she had seen her chasing one of her mutts around the street. The local chavs and chavettes- there were only three or four of them around here, and they were of distinct rural middle-class breed- had been spotted wearing fluffy down jackets, which was a rare sight during the cold season for reasons unknown. So, there was no real doubt about it.

Apart from causing slight social friction, her symptoms of spring fever had a tendency to bugger up her otherwise quite enjoyable single life. There was simply no way of sublimating all the burgeoning desires without running the risk of getting fat or bogged down with work, so she had to take them on with a much more straightforward approach. This was usually not very rewarding if she didn’t put enough time and effort into it, and more than often it just left her gnawing the bedroom curtains yearning for more.

Some of the girls at work always seemed to pick up her signals of frustration at this time of year, and the brief conversations during the break inevitably gravitated toward either the issues of hormones and getting old, or finding lasting love before getting too old. She found this extremely annoying and sometimes very embarrassing. It was pointless to argue with them. No, she was still pretty regular, and no, there was really nothing wrong with her physical or mental health. Sending her to a doctor would do her no good, unless the doctor in question was handsome and available. And for the love of God, she was neither going to open a cat sanctuary nor start dating women. The last time she checked, she was still pretty sure she wasn’t gay. Although there actually was something to the saying ‘every port in a storm’, she added to herself. Not that she ever would admit that openly to those prying cows.

With her right shoe, she sent a trampled peanut tin sailing down the row of parked cars, and she smiled wryly at the distant tock it made as it hit the rear door of a newly polished Mercedes. She’d better get herself properly sorted before Monday morning, she thought. Otherwise, she would probably be caught kicking more than just empty tins.

* * *

Winding down after a hellish week usually took hours, and sometimes, especially when her whole system was upset like this, it really was difficult to settle down. However, this evening had so far turned out to be surprisingly relaxing. The two fellows doing some redecoration in the house across the street had been in a bit of a hurry when they were heading home early, and now, her neighbour suddenly had a freshly styled fence and a few Irish yew trees pointing in new directions.

It was true that a bit of entertainment made bland food taste much better, and watching Mrs. Bradley through the window, scurrying around shouting madly at anyone who happened to ask what had happened had truly turned a frugal meal into a feast. Laughter was a great cure for stress, she thought, even if it meant that you had to cope with the minor setback of violent hiccups after having eaten while guffawing. Besides that, it served as a healthy head cleanser. Now, she would have some peace and quiet for the rest of the evening, figuring out what to do tomorrow. There were quite a few options available, none of which keeping her preoccupied for less than at least four or five hours. It never seemed to be worth going for less than that.

First things first, however. What would be a better way of getting rid of the hiccups than an old episode of Doctor Who and some foot massage?

* * *

Her toes grazed the bedside rug, trying to tell the rest of her body that there still was a floor there. It was hard to wake up properly at this ungodly hour on a Saturday, but it was impossible to stay in bed before she had found out why it was so damn quiet outside. It had taken her a few years to come to terms with all the countryside noises that replaced the lulling city drone she had grown up listening to. Now, she expected birdsong at first sunlight, wind rustling in the trees and a few occasional cars passing by outside. Today, there was nothing.

Hoar frost had turned the outside world white, and the only movement she could see was a cat returning home after a night out in the fields. A chill went down her spine, and she went padding across the floor looking for her fluffy slippers. The alarm clock beside her bed almost looked smug when she cast a brief glance at it. It was only half past six. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to suffer from the usual, monstrous headache that usually turned up when she got out of bed a bit too early. She just had to remember to prolong her morning routines instead of rushing through them, and stay away from caffeine until her stomach could tell which way was up.

As she fitted her whitening toes into the furry warmth of the slippers, she could hear a distant rumbling sound. Within seconds, it sounded like someone was using the morning sky over the village as a bowling alley, and then the thundering noise rolled away as quickly as it had arrived. Apparently, the Royal Air Force had chosen the scenic route today. No wonder the birds were still silent. One good thing about it though, she thought while straightening her back, was that Mrs. Bradley’s dogs would go absolutely ballistic right about now. She couldn’t help but smiling a little.

“Morning, lads.”

* * *

One of the most vital keys to a successful solo session was to find the elusive balance between keeping it as simple as possible to avoid unnecessary fuss, and making it enough interesting to be worthwhile. This took some careful deliberation, but sometimes it was really hard not to go over the top no matter how well thought out her plans were from the beginning. She had a niggling feeling that this could very well be the case today, but there was only one way of finding that out for sure.

Still wearing only her old bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, she sat on a shower stool in her bathroom contemplating what lay before her, neatly arranged in a laundry basket. After a few hours of doing next to nothing to see if her body was feeling cooperative, she had delved into the depths of the closet next to the stairs and carefully selected what she thought would fit the occasion. First of all, there was the suit. A full body catsuit, she thought, would go quite well with what she had in mind for today, and for a few moments she was a bit tempted to opt for one of her most recent finds. It was a wonderfully sleek Libidex creation, which she had bought mainly for two reasons. Firstly, she couldn’t resist trying a suit entirely without zips, and secondly, the olive green colour really appealed to her. At least it didn’t make her look like a balloon animal, which the more vibrant colours easily could do if she wore something that tight.

It would have been a good choice if it hadn’t been for a few problems. The fairly thin latex that made it so enticingly supple was more suitable for slightly warmer days. Even a faint draught would make her start sneezing as soon as things got a bit sweaty. She had also noticed that it had a tendency to leak quite a lot through the nifty crotch opening when she had been seriously at it, if she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Not that it mattered much, but she felt less enthusiastic about getting stains out of the carpets today. With that in mind, she had chosen a slightly heavier black suit with attached feet and gloves. She sighed as she picked it out from the basket and toyed with the wiggly fingers at the end of the sleeves. It didn’t have the same smooth feel to it, and not that heavenly organic rubbery smell, but it was snug enough to be nice and huggy. It wasn’t too bad.

The bathroom felt a bit nippy, and she hurried to get dressed. After unzipping the suit at the shoulders, she turned the upper part inside out and braced herself before easing her left foot down the leg. When it was this cold, it usually felt like the inside of a dead eel sliding up her leg before the latex had warmed up properly. One thing she really didn’t miss about the good old days was all the talc that ended up everywhere, but sometimes she would like to have nice and warm silicone oil to pour into the garments. Perhaps some kind of bain-marie would work? That would indeed be haute cuisine put to novel use, she thought, pulling the suit up over her chest.

Before wrestling her arms into the tight sleeves, she decided to take care of the hair issue. A swim cap was necessary to avoid all the fuss with removing all the annoying little wisps that virtually covered the inside of the suit, the hood or the mask and even the gloves when she washed them later. She had recently bought a new one, featuring ear pockets that rendered her almost deaf if she put on a thicker hood over it, but at least she didn’t look like a granny anxious to get to the shallow end of the pool. This, she noted with a smile as she adjusted it at the neck, made her look like a mean old Channel swimmer. This one didn’t have tiny ducks with umbrellas on it.

Next came the lightweight, black open-faced hood. Easy to peel off if it was getting a bit too hot, and quite comfy. She gently patted the back of her head. There was still enough hair to provide a little cushioning, even if the conehead look from the days when her ginger locks grazed her lower back was probably long gone. Nothing to do about that now, she thought. At least she still sported her natural colours. And, she added to herself as she let her arms slide into the sleeves, she was still supple like a contortionist.

“Not very slender, though...” she murmured, patting her hips and belly. There was a slight seismic ripple across the glossy, black surface covering her flesh. The slimming effect of these things was somewhat overrated. She couldn’t resist making a face at herself in the mirror before trying a demi-plié to see if she still could pull one off.

A few spots received a little attention with a clean cloth, and then she felt ready to go on with the other things that needed a bit of preparation. The familiar itch was already making its presence felt, and not in a very subtle way.

* * *

It was an entirely different world outside the bedroom window now, when it had thawed in the sun for a while. Perhaps, if she still felt like it, she would go for a walk down to the pub later. There was nothing like a bit of tasty pie after this kind of physical exertion, and it would be quite interesting to hear the latest about the little fence accident.

She sat down on her bed and flattened out a few creases on the fitted rubber sheet draped over the mattress, quite pleased with herself. Stripping the bed never felt less housewifey than on days like these, and there was something very special about fresh bed linen smelling of more than just plain old lavender the morning after. Quite a welcome bonus feature indeed. Another nice thing was that this particular sheet was so much better than the old, stiff hospital grade ones she had, which now served as handy furniture and floor covers when she needed them. Getting a full latex bedding set had always seemed a bit extravagant, but perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Not if it felt as nice as this.

What indeed was more than a little wayward were the things in the inconspicuous vinyl holdall at her feet. More than once, she had questioned her own sanity for keeping stuff like that just to get off. No one in their right mind, at herage etcetera would even dream of it. Or would they? It worked for her, didn’t it? More precisely, it was damn near the only cure when she was feeling like this, and therefore an emergency libido bag was a necessary thing to have. The only serious issue was that she might become a little too attached to it, but that was something to contemplate when she could keep a clear head, not now. Definitely not now.

Her experimental streak had only manifested itself in public through occasional bouts of kitchen bravado, but here, she really had let her imagination soar. She carefully placed the libido bag beside her on the bed and began unpacking it. First, she took out a large whipped cream dispenser and a small carry bag for headphones, which was brimming with tinkling metal gas cartridges. Back in the day when she used to hang out, or at least try to get into the Twisted Wheel, a few balloons of nitrous oxide was quite enough to feel pleasantly woozy. Quite innocent compared to all the other stuff going around at that time. It was even better now, more than thirty years later, when she had found a good way of getting the most out of the old cheap thrill. A set consisting of a black rubber anaesthetic mask with head harness connected via a long, corrugated hose to a couple of large rubber rebreathing bags snaked its way out of the bag as she lifted it onto the bed.

“Second floor,” she mumbled as she emptied a cartridge into the dispenser, “hospital and household items.”

There was more of what she liked to think of as ‘make do and mend- solutions’ in the bag. She had customized a regular, white plastic one-litre bottle instead of buying a bubble bottle inhaler. They were way too expensive considering how basic they were, and all it took to make one was a few minutes’ worth of drilling a hole in a bottle and fitting a small tube into it. It worked perfectly. However, she had since found another use for it.

Two smaller glass bottles were lined up next to it on the bedside table; a nondescript brown bottle with an old-fashioned cork, and a colourful one which she handled with care as she tried to loosen the cap without unscrewing it. This was her latest addition to her little experiments, and strangely enough, she only accidentally came across poppers when she was shopping online for a replacement for one of her less durable toys. This time, the ads had sparked an idea in her mind. She had to find out if and how they worked on women as well, and had decided to give it a try. After being careful at first, not at all very impressed by the sensations, she had of course gone a bit overboard with it and received a moist surprise. It had frightened her a bit, but still, it really worked. So good, in fact, that she had ordered a small batch of the supposedly strongest grade. Always handy to have at home, just in case.

She caught herself humming as she fished out a dropper and a couple of cotton pads from a side bag pocket. Getting this far without a single fumble was a good sign, but the fiddly bits still remained.

After fitting a pad into each of the empty bottles, she carefully squirted a full dropper of the yellowy liquid on both before quickly sealing everything up. It was easy to spill a little if her hands were trembling with excitement, but this time she didn’t lose a single drop. The stuff seemed to evaporate faster than whisky on a parched tongue.

“Let’s see now...” she whispered, searching for the last few necessities in the bag, eager to get started. “All creatures great and small, come to me...”

Two vibrators; a rechargeable wand of considerable size, and a small but mean-looking metal bullet vibe ended up on the sheet together with what almost looked like two transparent swim caps fused together. There was always time for a little extra teaser before getting down to business.

* * *

Normally, she wouldn’t need more than this to feel perfectly satisfied. Feeling the rubber move over her skin, squeezing her gently as she slowly slid around on the slick, soft black surface. Listening to her own breath hissing through the tiny slits in the vacuum hood as it inflated and collapsed again, kissing her face. It was definitely worth getting up early for.

She could feel the sun warming her legs when she raised them to wiggle her toes a little, and she felt inclined to do a few Esther Williams moves just for the hell of it. Nobody would notice, and what difference would that make anyway, considering the rest of the display? Her thoughts immediately wandered from Bathing Beauty via Formby and The Window Cleaner to David Attenborough saying to her as if he was standing right beside her: ‘mudskippers are unusual fish...’ , which made her start laughing so hard that the vacuum mask came off with a wet pflop.

Nothing wrong with being a mudskipper, she thought, but it was about time she dealt with her little problems before she went off her head for real. After strapping the anaesthetic mask to her face, she pulled one of the rebreathing bags off the T-piece at the end of the tube and reached for the cream dispenser. The sharp hissing sound of gas filling the bag always seemed to make her alert, but as she deftly reattached it, she knew that feeling wouldn’t last very long.

The first breaths always had a suggestively sweet smell, and the mixture was sometimes cool enough to make her think of mountain air. If she relaxed and breathed slowly, it was easier for her to feel when the nitrous started having the desired effect. Holding on for too long on the first run, or filling up both the bags without allowing almost any air, always left her slightly disoriented, out of breath and unnecessarily numb. There was no point in pushing things too far too soon, and about two minutes was more than enough. That was usually when the strong, rubbery smell of the mask seemed to vanish, and she removed the tubing to let fresh air into her lungs.

“Oof...”

Oh, this was a good start, she thought, trying to make her eyes uncross as she began floating in nice warmth a few inches above the mattress. The tingly feeling in her fingers seemed to spread through the layers of rubber as she began caressing herself gently. Feeling adventurous, she emptied what was left in the dispenser directly into the hose before plugging it back into the mask. Just a little more wouldn’t hurt, she supposed.

After removing the little bullet vibe lodged under her right buttock, she turned it on and let it sniff around on its own accord. Using it directly on her bare flesh could be a bit painful, since it was quite intense, but the suit provided just enough insulation to make it tickle quite nicely everywhere she chose to put it. Her inner thighs were particularly sensitive, and when the metal tip travelled across her left upper leg, she almost curled into a ball squealing with delight.

Her arms and legs were getting a bit heavy, and that meant it was time for a little break. She unhooked the harness strap that went over her head and pushed the mask down on her chin, taking a deep breath of fresh air while squeezing the bags to vent out the stale mixture. The oxygen went straight to her brain, and the familiar sparkly feeling flushing through her made her grin. She really enjoyed this little plateau phase, when everything seemed to turn soft and downy. Even without using the vibe, a pleasurable tingle reverberated within her, and she could clearly sense that something was already on its way.

Gently sliding around on the sheet as if she was making snow angels, she waited until most of the dizziness had evaporated before reaching for the dispenser again. This time, she refilled it with four chargers, which was all it could take without blowing a gasket. She was being careful not to tip the freezing cold steel cylinders onto the bed, and to give the trigger a little squeeze before replacing each of the first three empty cartridges to avoid unwanted flying objects. It was easy to get it wrong if she tried to do it while she was still a bit too woozy. Before putting the mask back on, she reached for the brown bottle and placed it next to her on the bed where it could be easily found.

It was almost hypnotic to watch the rebreathing bags inflate and deflate while listening to the sharp, wheezing sound of her own breathing. She put her hands on them, slightly amused with how warm they felt and the way they moved under her fingers. As she fumbled for the little bullet, she noticed how numb her limbs were beginning to feel, and she could barely register the vibrations no matter how hard she pressed it against her crotch. After taking a last deep breath, she bailed out and removed the mask again. It was not a good idea to become too muzzy right now.

“Oh. Oh, shit...”

The sudden increase of sensation triggered off a brief but intense climax, which she hadn’t expected. She had to force herself to let go of the toy before she lost control over what was happening.

“One...” she panted happily, licking her moist upper lip. Now, that was a nice surprise. Going off with a bang this soon was a very promising sign, she thought, lazily circling her belly with her fingers. Tiny spasms still flickered through her most sensitive parts, which felt peculiarly puffy and sticky underneath the suit. Well, there were certainly plenty more where that came from. A good starter was no excuse for delaying the main course.

* * *

Her whole world had narrowed down to what was happening to her now. It was impossible to focus on anything else than trying to hold on for a little bit longer. All she could hear was the roaring, white noise of her own breathing getting shallower and more erratic by the minute. As the gas mixture in the bags grew staler with each breath, the pleasant, subduing effects of the gas quickly waned and left her struggling for air. Even though she tried to prolong the sweet ordeal by sucking a bit of fresh air through the corner of her mouth by lifting the mask off her face with a finger, it only worked for a very short moment. Now, both the six-litre rebreathing bags were more or less fully inflated, and it was like being force-assisted with a big Ambu bag. The feeling of the powerful wand humming between her legs, relentlessly pushing her closer to the edge, was rapidly growing almost too strong to bear.

Only a few desperate breaths away from giving in and tearing the mask off, she was finally rewarded for her efforts. Staring blindly into the white nothingness of the ceiling, she could sense the first orgasmic wave building up strength and then roll over her. She nearly bit her tongue off trying not to scream out loud, and with a swift tug, she managed to pull the hose off the mask before the black cloud engulfed her.

Groaning with relief, happily sucking lungful after lungful of fresh air through the hole in the mask, she purposely moved the wand away from the critical spot but kept it buzzing close to it on a low setting. That always kept her simmering nicely until she decided to bring herself to the boiling point again. Carefully, she coaxed her crotch zip open a few inches and sneaked two gloved fingers into the slit. Yes, she thought, chuckling a little, the monster was still hungry. The cool draught felt really nice against her exposed sex, and she was amused with how swollen her tickler felt when she slowly ran her fingertips across it. Small jolts travelled up the small of her back as she continued nursing it for a while, careful not to cause another eruption too soon. Oh, this reminded her of early days. Sometimes she had to do with a bus seat and something springy, like a squash ball, but there was no stopping her from having a bit of fun on her own. Things were different now, but her blessed naughty imagination had only become worse with age, as it seemed.

On a whim, she eased the bullet vibe into the crotch opening and closed the zip trying to make it stay put where she wanted it. The vibrations from the wand didn’t exactly help, but she suspected it would be a lot worse in only a few seconds. She unstrapped the mask harness around her head and reattached the hose to the mask before placing it onto her chest. Then, she carefully pulled one of the rebreathing bags off the T-piece and reached for the brown bottle. Undoing the cork took a bit of effort, but the satisfying pfft when it finally came off was good news. She hadn’t been too stingy with the stuff this time, and she quickly fitted it to the connector before the vapours escaped.

The feeling of being gently electrocuted almost made her regret playing pig in a blanket with the bullet, when she finally found the tiny button and made it come to life. Pressing the wand against her crotch only seemed to make it worse, but after only a short moment the little torture devices began buzzing in a slightly bizarre unison, creating what felt like the beginning of a perfect storm within her. The droning hum deepened as she thumbed the dial on the wand until it would go no further, and a gasping gurgle escaped her. It was becoming a little too late to worry about if it was going to hurt, which it sometimes did when things got a little overheated. It was after all quite hard to even think by now, let alone unnecessary.

She regained control over herself long enough to blow a small puff of gas into the remaining rebreather bag and take a short breath, before pressing the mask tightly to her face again. Her anticipation peaked when the first faint whiff of the slightly acerbic fumes hit her nostrils, and her heart began struggling to pump faster. The pleasurable warmth flowing over her felt like being immersed in a hot bath, and she felt her face flush as she began to float, greedily filling her lungs as the smell of the poppers grew stronger and stronger. The unremitting vibrations from the toys appeared to spread all over her like drops of oil on water. Her pulse hammered in her ears. A small, pale blue orb appeared before her eyes, and suddenly, there was the familiar feeling of slowly melting. Now.

“Oh, God...Oh...”

Whimpering gratefully, she drifted off into a state of smooth, overwhelming orgasmic bliss. There were no heavy, crashing waves sweeping her away. It was like being trapped in a rising tide of liquid ice. This was what she had longed for, for much too long, and it just seemed to go on and on.

Slowly regaining her senses, still twitching violently as if the whole room had suddenly turned very cold, she instinctively stretched like a cat to savour the sensation of coming down. Within a few seconds, the pleasant, velvety delight of the afterglow tucked her in under a plush, downy duvet, and she giggled a little hoarsely with relief. Perhaps this was what she loved the most about it.

After successfully recovering the diligent little buzz bomb from under her suit before it tried to molest her further by sneaking in where it wasn’t meant to be, her fingers lingered on her sex. It still felt like she had more to give, which was quite surprising, but not at all disappointing. There was nothing worse than working herself half to death, only to end up unsatisfied or feeling sore and drained without the refreshing, tingly peckishness that always followed a good session.

Languidly teasing herself, she let herself drift off for a moment, imagining how it would be like to share this with someone. Preferably someone with a penchant for giving oral pleasure. That was something she really missed sometimes. A little bondage added to that would be nice as well. There were still a number of things she would like to try, and perhaps it was worth letting someone else do all the work for a change. Oh, how hard it would be to keep it from becoming a habit. No, something as good as this had to be reserved for special occasions only. There were enough routines in her life, and there always seemed to be little room left for creativity. Fortunately, this was a perfectly viable substitute for painting by numbers.

She tried the mask again to see if there was any oomph left in it, just in case. A few, deep breaths brought back the nice feeling of submersion, but as she had expected, there were no real sparks. Well, it didn’t really matter right now. There was no rush. A few more minutes of rest, and then she had to limber up a bit, have a cup of tea or two and perhaps something to eat before she got cranky. Then, she thought, furtively sniffing at the back of her sticky hand, it was time to think about dessert.

* * *

It was rather fun to watch the goings-on next door, even if it was hard to see from her bedroom window. She had first spotted the little old man trying to get out of his car without being bitten from her kitchen as she was about to go upstairs again, and now she watched him carrying planks and tools while still being harassed by the dogs. He didn’t seem to mind them, or, for that matter, the woman with the shrill voice and ridiculous hat following his every move. She wondered where that Bradley woman had found someone willing to mend her fence on a Saturday, but she deeply admired his stoical approach. Probably someone hardened by years of being happily married, she thought.

As much as she would have enjoyed continuing to follow the show outside, she possibly couldn’t. The air in the bedroom was laden with the heady scent of warm rubber mixed with a slight tinge of what could only be her, and her mind almost immediately began racing again. Folding her arms tightly across her chest, she imagined how it would feel like to lie there on the bed strapped into a straitjacket- one of those really purposeful, well-made ones that weren’t made of thin latex- while being lavished with attention. She could almost feel the touch of a tongue right where it did the trick for her. A whole tongue, not just a measly little tip anxiously flitting about. Perhaps it would be best to have her legs secured as well, she added as a precious bird figurine on the windowsill was in danger of taking a fatal plunge when her hips began wiggling a little too frivolously, and she had to step away from the window.

Biting her lip, gazing at the bed, she wondered how much courage it would take to trust someone else considering the other little special arrangements. Although it would be exciting. Very exciting. Slightly trembling at the thought, she pictured fingers resting on a valve. All that was necessary was a slight twist, but not knowing when or even if...

The rhythmical sound of hammering roused her, and she smiled. That old fellow had it all figured out, hadn’t he? What was better than having something to do with your hands when you wanted to keep your head clear? Provided of course, she thought while picking up the new toy she had brought back with her, that you never forgot to use the right tools to get the job done. Absently squeezing the small bulb, she felt the sizeable, black inflatable dildo grow slowly in her left hand. Besides, if pure manual labour wasn’t enough; a few shortcuts were always allowed. In this case, power tools and a little something she prepared earlier. She still had a bottle left on the bedside table.

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08.03.13