Entering Rubber Society 7: The Dress

Katherine stood in the foyer of her flat awaiting the lift. Simone had awakened her an hour before to get dressed for dinner and now Katherine knew she would be late, but only fashionably so. She presumed Sir Richard Cranston would wait fifteen minutes before giving up on her.

As the lift arrived, she and Simone stepped in, Katherine heard Simone say, “Lobby”, then checked out her reflection as the two rubberised women descended the 200 meters to the ground floor. Katherine’s metallic silver latex evening gown glittered like quicksilver. It descended from her head to her toes in a rippling metallic column, wasp waisted to match her severely corseted figure.

The shoulders were broad, significantly padded in a fashion from a bygone day. The dress was long sleeved, terminated with taut metallic silver latex gloves. Her breasts, augmented by the longline rubber corset she wore, appeared to be trying to punch through the latex like two warheads. The silver rubber across them was stretched almost to transparency by the bullet cups of the corset.

The dress rose from her shoulders, up her neck, and around her head, concealing her features beneath a reflective silver shield of soft rubber. Pepper pot eyes and the lack of any mouth hole announced an intention to remain sealed during dinner, separate from the world and from Richard.

From her waist, the gown followed her figure to stretch tightly across her hips, then fell straight to the floor in a perfect glittering column. The ankle high, 25 cm platform ballet boots she wore provided the necessary height to barely keep the rubber hem off the floor. The hem was at a minimum to allow walking and a restriction between her ankles insured no step further than 18 cm could be taken.

Beneath the dress she wore layers of tight latex. The first was a transparent grey skinsuit which covered her completely from head to toe, including her eyes, nose, and mouth. Katherine had balked at donning the suit when she saw there were no breathing holes, but Simone explained.

“When the hood goes over your head, miss, take a breath through your nose. You will be most comfortable. Sure enough, once Katherine‘s head was enclosed by the hood, she took a deep breath through her nose and air flowed in freely. She exhaled and her breath exited the hood without disturbing it. She reached up and felt the hood under her nose; yes, it was sealed with rubber across each nostril, but air flowed through as if nothing was there.

“Transpiration Rubber, it’s called, miss,” Simone said with a smile. “Another innovation from Mother, soon to be quite common, I suspect. Microscopic tubes move as much air as you demand through the portion of latex covering your nostrils. It can be tailored to allow free flow or total restriction or anything between.” To demonstrate, Simone swept her hand over Katherine’s face and suddenly her breath was blocked, the hood sucking tight to her face as she tried to inhale. Another gentle swipe and she could breathe again, but with some effort. A final swipe from the rubber maid’s gloved hand and full breathability was restored.

“You have to show me how to control these hood options, Simone.”

“I shall, miss. The hoods have to have you as an authorized user and then I can show you how to make the control gestures.”

“How is it these things have so much function with no mechanism?”

“The mechanisms are there, microscopically embedded in the latex as the fab builds the item. Mother has begun placing functional components in almost all her fashions now. Hoods are just the most obvious, but corsets, catsuits, shoes, hats, gloves will all have functions that make them more or less restraining and confining. I had the enjoyment of testing an evening gown she has designed that tightens its grip on the wearer with every step until the person passes out from an inability to breathe. And you probably do not wish me to go into detail about what Mother has tested on the gimp.”

“Fascinating,” Katherine said. She was not sure she wanted to experience such fashions.

Within the transparent skinsuit, Katherine stared at the world through smooth, optically clear, grey latex, dimming her vision only slightly; she breathed through seemingly solid latex, freely and clearly; she felt the pressure of smooth latex against her lips, silencing her. In the skinsuit Katherine was completely cut off from the outside world.

Over the skinsuit she wore a longline corset of metallic silver rubber, about three times the thickness of the dress, that encased her from her rubberised chin, over her naturally curvaceous breasts, to just below her knees. Made of a strong rubber, with invisible boning inside the latex, the corset rigorously constrained her waist to 40 cm while relentlessly shaping her belly and hips. The corset provided the stiffness and slight tilt to her head as well as the double-D cups that covered her breasts in taut, rigid rubber. Her real breasts pressed outward against the thin, transparent rubber skinsuit. The corset’s breast cups boasted an inner latex lining and the interstice was gel filled. This enveloped her natural breasts in their grey latex confinement. Any vibration or touch to the large latex torpedoes she wore on her chest would be transmitted to her real breasts beneath.

The corset utilized a mechanized closure in back. While it was closing her corset, Katherine had thought it was about to cut her in half. Taking a quarter hour to fully close, it had started at both top and bottom and slowly zipped itself shut over her resisting rubber flesh. Laces and zipper tabs were present only if the client wanted them for decorative purposes. Otherwise, small nodules with high torque micro motors would drive the almost invisible zipper tabs toward each other. Simone removed the motorized nodules when they had met, closing the corset seamlessly.

Such mechanized closures were common, eliminating the need for visible zipper teeth unless fashion demanded them. Now, however, there was no seam visible anywhere on the corset to indicate she had been placed into it nor how she would escape its relentless embrace.

The corset had another secret; although it continued past her knees, it contained a built-in rubber thong running between her legs. Simone had shown her how the thong’s two pliable rubber plugs were supposed to fit into the skinsuit’s rubber sheaths lining her front and rear orifices and how the widened end in front would cover her latex encased labia and clitoris. Katherine had, in a diamond bracelet on her left wrist, a control to cause any or all three of the pleasurable toys to start vibrating, pumping, or shocking her with eleven settings each.

The final touch to Katherine’s shining silver latex ensemble was a diamond speckled, silver latex fascinator in the shape of a small top hat, perched atop her head and to one side. Held in place by the same adhesive as her previous hat, it was just the piece, she thought, to complete the outfit. Sylvia thought so too, apparently, as it had been in the box with the gown. Appropriate for dinner and softening the stark visual rigidity of her chrome latex hooded head.“ It will actually be more important to the look after I remove the gas mask, but it is still a nice touch, even now.”

As she stood in the descending lift Katherine fingered the vibration control and set both plugs to vibrating gently. She wiggled her bottom a little as the pleasurable buzz settled her. “I always enjoy a good pair of plugs, but these are delicious,” she thought. Simone, standing silently beside her, smiled in her tight rubber hood.

The bright silver evening gown covered the skinsuit and corset seamlessly and with no lines showing. Her gown was a single piece of latex that had been pulled on over her head. The gown stretched remarkably as she wriggled into it, but donning it or removing it were completely impossible without help.

The stiff, built-in collar/hood had been loose enough to accommodate her head going in, then Simone had tightened it with another invisible zip closure. Now, it completely confined her. There would be no removal of this gown without Simone’s help. Katherine was inviolate in her layers and layers of latex.

Over the two layers of impenetrable latex Katherine wore on her face - the skinsuit mask with no openings and the dress’ hood with its pepper pot eyes but no other opening - a gas mask, also in silver chrome rubber, covered her latexed features. This mask had no straps and did not cover her head. It was held on by the same adhesive technology as the hat she had worn throughout the day and could be removed with a single swipe.

It was minimal, large, with teardrop shaped goggles and a filter housing over her nose and mouth. It presented a very low profile, not the extended, bulky, and elaborate gas masks she often saw on the city streets. This was designed, like her earlier one, for understated elegance, not prominence. Like most gas masks worn by members of Rubber Society, it was decorative, not practical. A thing of beauty, but just an ornament.

Over the dress she wore a rubber capelet, shining silver latex like the rest of her outfit, but speckled with glittering diamond flecks embedded within the rubber matrix. The capelet was closed down the back and fit over her shoulders and down her arms to just past the elbow, effectively immobilizing them.

Her chrome rubber ballet boots completed the look, adding the height the gown demanded although little of them but the toe showed under the floor length hem. Katherine appeared as a solid silver mannequin, faceless, gas masked, corseted, constricted, rippling in a quicksilver gown, tottering on sky high heels; a rubber gynoid goddess.

Katherine was sealed beneath three or four layers of tight, constricting, in some cases unyielding, latex. Simone had clapped at the level of constraint her new mistress had been willing to tolerate for this dinner date.

The lift descended to the lobby of Sharp Tower, coming to a such a gentle stop that it was almost undetectable and its doors opened. Simone stepped out and Katherine followed, but suddenly felt resistance between her ballet boots. Catching herself, she reduced her stride and came out at a more sedate and constrained pace. “The boots have the restriction on them. I must remember not to stride too far with each step.”

Unlike the day’s white rubber boots, tonight’s had no chain dangling between them. Sylvia Sutcliffe had sent a rather different type of ballet boot to Katherine. The restriction was electrostatic.

At the beginning of the century researchers had discovered a way to shape and limit fields, particularly electromagnetic and electrostatic fields. While, like most technologies, it had started out limited, large, and expensive, within a decade it was versatile, microscopic, and virtually free. Shaped field technology, by the latter half of the century, was ubiquitous. It allowed for things to be configured and changed, moved and directed, fashioned and built.

It was at the heart of fabrication technologies which provided people’s homes with anything they wanted to order up from a glass of clean water to a new pair of latex ballet boots. The large, industrial fabricators in Atelier Sutcliffe’s basement used shaped fields to manipulate and maneuver atoms into molecules and molecules into latex garments and accessories.

Larger fabs created the largest things needed for the modern world such as carbon structures for buildings. Smaller ones created fresh food, and consumables for customers. All such fabs operated based on shaped field technology. Carbon, one of the most abundant raw elements, was central to a tremendous number of modern items from building materials of super strong fiber to the crystalline diamond windows and countertops seen all over.

The hydrosonic jets in Katherine’s bath were an adaptation that allowed shaped electrostatic fields to drive water at high pressure through microscopic jets to provide her with soothing massage. The same shaped field technologies provided the adhesive capabilities that kept her rubber hat in place during the day and her strapless gas mask in place this evening. No chemical adhesives were required. The shaped field components had been ‘printed’ into the hat and the gasmask when Sylvia’s fabricators created the accessories.

Katherine’s rubber ballet ankle boots contained microscopic shaped field generators which created a thin electrostatic chain between the boots. Rather than falling off at a distance as an unassisted electrostatic attraction would have done, the smart boots detected her stride and increased the field strength as she moved her feet apart, giving the impression of a thin elastic cord between them. If she stepped too far, the field would be increased enough to snap her ankles back together with significant force. Katherine felt the gentle tug with every step, but it became significant when she tried to step too lively to leave the lift.

She minced her way out of the lift toward the door. The concierge on duty, Lilly, Katherine recalled, stared first at Simone, still in total latex Victoriana and then at Katherine, a rubber restrained lady out for the evening. “May I help you, ma’am?” she said.

“My miss needs an autocab to Bondi’s”, said Simone.

Divining that Katherine was most likely silenced, not an unusual situation for a rubberist leaving after dark, Lilly shifted her attention back to Simone. “Of course, ma’am,” Lilly said, “Thirty seconds, ma’am.”

Lilly tapped the call into her wrist comm. Katherine was still moving slowly toward the door when the autocab pulled to the kerb and its seat swiveled out. Thirty seconds had been an over estimate on Lilly’s part. No more than twenty had passed before the shiny little conveyance appeared. The concierge stepped quickly to the door causing it to automatically open before Katherine arrived. Lilly then walked with Katherine, never touching her or saying a word, until the pair arrived at the seat awaiting Katherine. She turned, her shining silver evening gown catching the city lights and scattering them over the front entrance like multi-coloured gems, then carefully seated herself on the cab’s proffered seat. As Simone and the concierge watched, the seat swiveled, retracted into the cab, the door slid silently shut and the rubber sealed Katherine was whisked to her dinner date.

“Whew!” thought Katherine. “That little stroll was interesting.” She felt the thick rubber corset adjusting to her being in a seated position again Sylvia had designed it such that, even as a longline corset, it was articulated sufficiently for the wearer to sit down.

“I am so very glad I wear ballet boots regularly,” was Katherine’s next thought. She, like many girls growing up, had graduated to high heels as quickly as possible when she entered puberty at age eight. Then, she had accustomed herself to higher and higher heels as she grew older, again just as almost every girl in her circle of friends had. By her sixteenth year, for her coming of age present, her parents had given her a pair of ballet boots as she’d requested.

As she went through university she had worn ballet boots almost every day as all the other girls seemed to have done. While most of her friends were not members of Rubber Society, no young lady at university would be without a pair of stunning ballet boots, some with toe platforms as high as 12 cm and heels as high as 30 cm. Because they started so young, most women were very comfortable on high heels; those who graduated to ballet boots for normal wear, became quite proficient at walking and even running in the amazing shoes. Designers loved this for the height and shape the shoes could provide. They came out with new and more daring, radical, or bizarre styles each season.

Medical professionals had long since thrown up their hands. It was difficult for an orthopedist to credibly complain about the damage such shoes might do while wearing a pair herself. As well, modern surgery could repair any damage almost overnight. Women and many men, sought higher and higher heels and such heels were both endured and loved.

Although Katherine no longer wore ballet boots everyday, she, like most women, had several pair and wore them for clubbing and for casual wear on the weekends. She even wore her best pair of patent leather thigh high ballet boots to the office from time to time when she dressed in leather. Now, she suspected, she would be wearing ballet boots most of the time, at least until Lucretia Waldron came out in ten days’ time.

The autocab pulled up to the kerb before Bondi’s blood coloured rubber awning. As the door of the conveyance slid open and the seat swiveled Katherine out, a footman, standing by the cab, offered a rubber covered hand to help her stand.

“Welcome to Bondi’s, ma’am.”

Placing her left hand, barely mobile, in his, Katherine alighted gracefully, standing slowly and carefully to be sure she had her balance. The footman was prepared to catch her should her restraining costume prove too much. However, after a moment to allow things inside to resettle into a vertical configuration, Katherine began walking her way to the door, small short steps causing her heels to echo off the glittering tiles of Bondi’s entryway.

The footman tuned away, his own rubber uniform hiding the extent of his personal bondage. Katherine had noticed, however, that he was in a black rubber catsuit and his gas mask was, indeed, one of the extended and elaborate types with two corrugated tubes passing around behind his back and into a large aroma bag strapped to his back. It was filled with whatever noxious contents his mistress had chosen so that he inhaled its pungent odor with every breath. The filters on the side of the mask were actually configured to remove the odor from his exhalations so he would not offend anyone nearby.

His less obvious restraint involved a penile corset of thick rubber and a pin corset wrapped tightly around his slender frame. Each breath he took from his aroma casket was accompanied by the feeling of a thousand pins being driven through his catsuit into his flesh. He had responded, over the months of training, by learning to breathe shallowly, but still had to take a solid breath every once in a while. Each breath was agony, but an agony he not only desired but actually designed, his mistress agreeing to provide him with the dominance necessary to force him into the torturous garment.

The doorman, standing by the door in a black, heavy rubber outfit, with his own elaborate gas mask, watched Katherine as she approached, mincing her way to the entrance. As he had not opened the door, she stopped and stared at him, unable to speak.

“Oh god,” she thought, “I forgot, I have to prove I’m – I am gagged or they won’t – will not let me in. And I cannot reach my mask.”

Abruptly, however, a panel on the side of the door lit up with large letters.

“Guest appropriately silenced”

A moment later the black steel door of the city’s most exclusive rubber Bondage Restaurant slid not sideways, but up into the wall above her. Katherine minced her way through. “They must have scanned through my gas mask.”

As she looked around, Katherine saw a fairly traditional supper club. The décor was pure Latex Moderne from about four decades earlier. Thick red and purple rubber squares tiled the walls, the floor was carpeted in purple rubber plush and the banquettes for diners were upholstered in rich blood red or dark gold latex upholstery. The tables were all diamond topped.

Across from her was a ridiculous anachronism: a live band, each member sealed in rubber bondage, played live music, muted enough that conversation was still possible for those patrons allowed to speak.

A maître d’, in a bright red rubber evening gown with a tight high buckled collar and black knee high ballet boots showing through the slit in her gown greeted Katherine. From the back of her hood, the woman had a gold latex fall of myriad strands of thin rubber dangling down her back. This matched the gold rubber gloves which covered her sleeves nearly to her elbows.

“May I know the name of your reservation, please.” The woman’s voice was clear even through the gas mask she wore over her red rubber hood. Her mask appeared to be an antique, its bronze coloured rubber contrasting nicely with the red of her gown. It also went well with the antique Latex Moderne ambience of the supper club. Katherine, unable to speak, stepped a bit closer to the maître d’ turning slightly to bring her left side closest.

The bracelet she wore was a multi-purpose tool, a sort of electronic wallet. Sensing the maître d’, the bracelet transmitted Katherine’s name to her wrist comm.

“Ms. Duane! Of course, please follow me.”

The rubber covered woman, silver rubber fall flashing, walked ahead of Katherine, but kept her stride short to match her customer. “May I say, Ms. Duane, you look lovely tonight. Your level of restraint is most stylish.”

Katherine, of course, did not answer. Looking around she saw the patrons were in all manner of rubber dress. The women were universally in long, slinky rubber evening gowns, the men in rubber tuxedos. Gas masks were everywhere, but not all patrons sported them.

The woman led her to a curved banquette, richly upholstered in striking metallic gold latex. The banquette was situated far to one side of the large restaurant, its back to the door but with a good view of the stage. Seated at one end the booth was a man in a black latex tuxedo, white rubber shirt and gloves, and a black gasmask, simple and elegant like Katherine’s, but with a bit more elaboration in the form of twin hoses one over each shoulder, leading up to connectors mounted on his white rubber hood.

Sir Richard stood as the maître d’ and Katherine came into view. The table swung away even more smoothly and unobtrusively than the one earlier that day at Hotel Gummi. Sir Richard bowed slightly and his eyes, just visible behind the goggles of his mask, twinkled.

“Welcome, Ms. Duane! My word, but you look lovely this evening. I was beginning to think you might be standing me up.” His voice came through clearly from behind the mask and his tone indicated he was joking.

Katherine bowed slightly as well, in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“May I remove madam’s cape?”

Katherine nodded and the woman moved behind her. Suddenly, Katherine felt the restraining silver and diamond capelet release as the maître d’ unzipped it for her. It was whisked off her shoulders with expert deftness. “Shall I hang this in our cloak room, ma’am?”

Katherine nodded again. The woman in bright red rubber laid the capelet gently over a chair and then indicated Katherine’s seat. Katherine twisted about and slid gingerly into the banquette. Richard slid in beside her and the table swung back into place.

As she was placing a serviette of absorbent latex on Katherine’s lap the maître d’ whispered, “You may remove your gag now, Ms. Duane. They are only required while entering Bondi’s.”

Katherine reached up a tightly rubbered hand and gently pressed at her gas mask’s seal. It came loose from her face revealing the mouthless state of her underlying hood. Both Sir Richard and the woman in bright red rubber raised eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, that may make conversation difficult,” said Richard as the maître d’ turned on her spike heel and headed back to the entryway carrying the silver rubber cape.

Katherine reached up and drew her silver latex hand over her face, subtly making the motions Simone had taught her. “I hope I get this right,” she thought.

Richard’s eyebrows did another dance under his gas mask as he watched a mouth hole magically appear in Katherine's hood, beautiful icy pink lips emerging from their taut confinement. Simone had helped her choose a shade that worked well with the chrome like finish of her hood, but it was rather different from her usual bright, rich red.

“Ah, there we go!” she said with relish. Then she looked at him impishly from behind the pale lavender of her skinsuit’s lenses. “How are you, Richard? Shall I put my mask back on or will you remove yours?”

“I shall remove mine to match the lady. Far be it from me to inconvenience such a vision.” So saying, he tapped his own mask at its edge and it slipped off his face, the two tubes which extended into his hood retracting into the gas mask and leaving no mark.

His underlying hood of deep, shiny black rubber, had small openings for eyes and mouth, not as large as hers, but sufficient to let her see his eyes twinkle and to appreciate his well formed mouth. An image of kissing it flitted through her mind, making her smile.

“If I may be so bold, what did I just see happen with your hood?”

“Apparently, Sylvia Sutcliffe’s latest latex innovation. The hood responds to different gestures by opening or closing the mouth area in a variety of configurations. It provided me with the requisite silencing for entering Bondi’s, but just now I activated the pattern for a full mouth. It could just as easily been a perforated panel or a single small hole.”

“Amazing! That woman never ceases to innovate! And your skinsuit beneath? Your eyes are lovely, by the way. A beautiful smoky grey.”

Katherine smiled. “The skinsuit seals as well, but it is synchronized with my outer layer, so it opened a mouth hole for me simultaneously. Which was nice since I have no openings at the nose.”

Richard looked closely as Katherine turned her head and tilted it even more than her collar required.

“No breathing holes. Transpiration Rubber. It has been rumoured that she was working on that.”

“I am informed that I am the first person to wear it in public.”

“It is wonderful; many rubberists dream of true total enclosure, complete isolation from any contact with the outside world, as the natural state of wearing rubber. They do not wish to be encumbered with ancillary life support such as air tanks or re-breathers, but they do not want any open orifice or exposure of their physical person to the outside environment. Sylvia my be onto something major here.”

“It is quite pleasant to wear. One forgets about it altogether very quickly. Although such isolation is not my personal fetish,” she hastened to add.

“Of course not. Now, may I order you a drink before dinner?”

“A Gibson, please”

Richard motioned to a waiter sealed in very heavy rubber gear. Total enclosure suit in black, probably over at least one other suit as well. Exactly the rebreathing gear Richard had mentioned, and a formal severe rubber and chain bondage harness, straps of white latex and bright silver chain chasing around its head, shoulders, crotch, and legs. It was of average height, plain physique, its gender indeterminate.

The waiter stepped to their table and waited, a silent rubber automaton.

“A Vodka Gibson for the lady and a Manhattan for me. Then we shall order dinner.” Richard glanced at Katherine’s hooded face for confirmation and she nodded, inordinately pleased that he remembered her drink so well.

“Of course, sir.” The waiter’s voice was clear, but mechanical. Richard explained as the rubber form turned away. “The waiter cannot speak. Its suit is equipped with an AI that responds to customers.”

“And if he or she disagrees with it?”

“The AI wins. It is, effectively, the waiter’s superior while on duty here.”

Their drinks arrived and they began discussing dinner choices.

“Bondi’s is very well known for its beef and fish dishes. Unless you are vegetarian?”

“I’m – I am not. I enjoy a good steak and a nice bit of seafood. That is, as long as they’re – they are vat grown or fabricated. I cannot abide the taste of farmed food; I have to admit I find it disgusting.”

“Bondi’s offers a Kobe steak from the last herd in Japan, but everything else is vatted meat and fabricated fish. I agree with you. Farmed food is too bland and I cannot imagine eating some of the things that used to come from the land. Veal for instance. I love veal, it is so delicately flavored, but farmed veal from an actual calf is totally off-putting.”

Yes. I cover food for N & E and I have had to try several farmed foods. I much prefer fabricated vegetables and vat grown meats. It is difficult to imagine people used to eat such stuff. It just has no taste!”

Richard laughed. “Historically, you know, the argument went the other way; a century and a half ago people found the first vat grown meats bland.”

I suppose it has much to do with how you are raised. What of yourself?”

“I was raised on fabricated paste. My parents are very dedicated members of Rubber Society’s heavy rubber fetishists and my whole family was tube fed. I had to lean to chew solid food at University. I still prefer a good paste of blended steak au poivre and spring vegetables to the solid variety. ”

Katherine was surprised. “You never ate solid food as a child?”

“Many members of Rubber Society do not. It is not a rule or anything, but many hard core rubberists prefer the sense of separation that tube feeding gives them. It feels more sophisticated, more modern, less primitive and less ‘earthy’ to us. Of course, seeing as I was raised that way, it also seems much more natural to consume food as a paste through a tube. I did eventually learn to enjoy solid food, while at University, but even now I probably prefer paste over solids. Except for oysters. There is something delightfully rubbery about a natural, vat grown oyster as opposed to the paste variety.”

“But you eat the paste through your mouth, correct? Not like the Rubberim we saw earlier? You still enjoy the taste of food, correct?”

“Oh, yes. I am not an ultra conservative rubberist who does not wish to taste anything but rubber. As dedicated to the principles of Rubber Society as they were, my parents were never that conservative. And I am even less so.”

Katherine sat back against the softly padded rubber booth. “That’s a relief. Uh-I mean that is good to know. By the way, it is very difficult to speak without using contractions. Is that really a Rubber Society dictum?”

Richard laughed lightly. Katherine liked his laugh. “Yes, I am afraid that is indeed one of our more defining traits. Because of the restraining nature of rubber and the muffling effect of the hoods and masks, we find it difficult to be understood if we speak with any slurring, including contractions. Consequently, we seldom use them and we tend to speak a bit more roundly, with more articulation and with verbal flourish and many more syllables than non-members. But you are doing very well. I notice that you have caught yourself every time you used a contraction and corrected. A few more days practice and it will become second nature. You will speak like a native!”

Katherine smiled. Richard rather enjoyed the way her cool, pink lips looked against the silvery finish of there rubber hood.

“Shall we order, then?” he said, looking at her closely.

“Indeed,” she replied.

Richard reached out and gestured over the table’s control nodule. Two menu documents appeared in the diamond table top and the two spent a few moments perusing menus.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes, go ahead.”

Richard gestured at the waiter, hovering nearby. That worthy hobbled its way over to their table, chains tinkling lightly. Its AI’s voice asked them for their choices.

“I shall have the filet of sole, please,” said Katherine. “with asparagus. Vatted, not farmed,” Katherine told the waiter.

“And I shall have the veal, please. Also vatted, not farmed, medium rare,” said Richard.

“Shall I have the chef dice those entrees for you?” the AI voice asked.

Katherine looked at Richard. “Diced?”

“The chef can dice your entrée into smaller bites to suit eating through a hood. It is normal practice for rubberists in hoods such as ours.”

“Then, yes, please do,” Katherine said to the waiter.

“Mine as well,” said Richard. “And an Amarone, fifteen years old, please.”

The waiter’s AI responded, “Fabbed or bottled? We have both, but I recommend the fourteen year old vintage. The previous year did not produce the best grapes.”

“Bottled fourteen years ago, then. We shall defer to your judgment.”

“Very good, sir. Your wine will be out shortly.”

The waiter turned and made its way back to its station, turning and standing at attention, its rubber enclosure glistening in the light, the white straps of its harness lending it an air of formality.

Katherine couldn’t help asking, ”What do you think? Is our waiter male or female?”

“I hardly know,” he said. “It may be neither. A lot of gimp fetishists have themselves neutered. Nulls, as we refer to them, are quite common in the service industry. It seems to coincide with their fetish. My butler was a woman but is a null now.”

“She is a gimp?”

“It is a gimp. And an excellent butler. Runs the whole household, manages the accounts, keeps me on track.”

“You have a household? As in servants?” Katherine was suddenly wondering just how wealthy Sir Richard Cranston was.

“Yes, a small one. Two maids, a valet, and a mechanic/gardener. Plus Evelyn. I have a flat here in the city and a house in the country out to the southwest.”

“You need so many for the two residences?”

“No, Evelyn and its crew are just for the city flat. The country home has a staff of twenty.” He said all this matter-of-factly.

“My god! All that for yourself?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “I actually live with my parents. That is, they live in the country in the house as do my two sisters, their families and my brother.”

“Oh, I see. When you said you have a house in the country, I assumed – “

“That it was mine? It is. I purchased it fifteen years ago from my father so he could go into total enclosure latex isolation. He is in his nineties now, fully rubbered for fifteen years. Living the life – or unlife since he has no contact with the outside world anymore.”

“And your mother?”

She joined him in total enclosure isolation 2 years ago. She is in her seventies now. Their husband, Jack, died a few years ago. I bought the house from my father so the family could continue to live as we always have. We did not want it sold to outsiders and us all having to move out of the manor, as it were. Of course Pia and Jocelyn, my sisters, have flats in the city as well. They each have two husbands and I no longer keep track of the number of children. “

“And your brother?”

“Roger is unmarried as yet, but keeps three young things as slaves. His whole wing is given over to his BDSM fetish. His slaves are some of the most elaborately outfitted you will ever see. He enjoys pony fetish as well so about half the time his slaves are in a stable on our property.”

“Quite a family. Are you into group marriage as well?” Katherine decided she should get the full story from him given the elaborate family mapping he laid out.

“Well, I have no objection to it, but I am, so far, unattached, comfortably bi, and so busy with my work I have not had time for a serious relationship with anyone since university. There was a young man at school, but he was not into rubber and we would never have lasted. We dated off and on for a semester, but I never even asked him to come meet the parents, as it were.”

Their wine arrived, delivered by the silent waiter. Richard tasted and approved. “Excellent. You may pour.” The centuries old ritual, totally irrelevant in an age of fabrication and total process control, was still followed. There is much comfort in the following of rituals.

The rubberised waiter poured from the bottle. Katherine brought her glass to her lips slowly and carefully, feeling the pull of her latex hood. She took a sip.

“My god! That is amazing Amarone!” She stared intently at her glass, watching the legs carefully. She knew wine and she knew Amarone, a rich, dry Italian red. But she had never had such a wonderfully smooth yet strongly astringent variety. “It tastes – “ She was at a loss.

“Chewy,” said Richard. “It tastes chewy.” He laughed at the look on her rubber covered face.

“It does. That is a perfect description.” She grabbed the bottle from his gloved hand, feeling it slip out of her rubber grasp. Then her fingers met the fine nubs embossed into the side and her grip was restored. She quickly brought her bracelet arm up and scanned the bottle. She had something for her next food column, that was certain.

“Tell me about yourself,” Richard said

“Not much to tell. I was raised in a small village to the north, went to boarding school, then journalism school, worked some odd jobs for a bit, then landed my position at N&E two years ago. I met Rose at a wine tasting and we chatted. Two weeks later she offered me a job.”

“You are new to rubber, but you seem very accepting. Any kinks you wish to share?”

“Oh, I’m – I am as kinky as the next person. Mostly submissive, generally bi with a lesbian leaning. I was in my first D/s relationship in high school. I was sub to a senior girl when I was in my third year, but she left for university and we broke it off. It was mostly for fun and sex, nothing too emotional.”

“At university I explored my domme side and enjoyed it. I had a pair of subs for 2 years, a guy and a girl. The girl was two years ahead of me which let me explore the true essence of BDSM, power exchange based on personality and desire, not age or gender, money, or position. I discovered I enjoyed being dominant, but I still prefer submitting to the right person, so I suppose you would designate me a switch with sub leanings. I did discover I have something of a sadistic streak and can really get off on inflicting pain when my partner wants it, but I prefer to have a dominant order me to be sadistic.”

“Somehow, though, I never got into latex. Too expensive, my partners were not into it, my own interest was only mild.”

“You seem to have taken to it well and quickly. You handled it perfectly this afternoon, even though I spotted you as being somewhat new. And this evening you walked in here as if you own the place and mince your way in here in silver rubber evening attire every other night!”

Katherine laughed, her silver head catching the light and sending reflections across the table. “I learn quickly and had a good few pointers before coming here. Sylvia sent her daughter Simone to my flat to act as maid.”

“That explains a lot. Simone is most competent and deeply into rubber service.”

“You know her?”

“We have met,” Richard said meaningfully.

Katherine looked around the room, suddenly wanting to discuss something other than Richard’s previous liaisons with her maid. The room was filled with late night diners, all in varying degrees of rubber enclosure. Everyone was hooded as she and Richard were, about half kept gas masks on as well. She saw sleek black rubber evening dresses everywhere. One couple wore black and white gowns of identical design. She noticed that in that couple, now dancing slowly in front of the stage, he wore the white and she the black. They had almost identical builds except for her significant bust and his broader shoulders.

At least half the outfits were restraining in some fashion; hobbled skirts on the gowns, tightly corseted waists, chains or rubber panels restricting gloved hand and arm movements, tight collar corsets forcing heads into exaggerated positions, rubber harnesses constricting bodies from neck to groin. A rubber tux with the braces transformed into elaborate bondage straps caught her eye.

Looking elsewhere she noted a large party entering and being directed to a round table in the corner. Five women in a variety of gowns, hoods, and gloves approached the table slowly, all hobbled by spectacular rubber gowns and wearing ballet boots with high platforms.

One woman was in a green rubber gown with an asymmetrical array of straps leading up to a high tight collar. Another was in a metallic blue gown with deep décolletage, a black catsuit rising up from beneath it to encompass her head in a tight hood with perforated eyes showing beneath a gas mask. Two of the women were in nearly identical black gowns one of which was itself hooded and gloved while the other had a white catsuit beneath it to provide the necessary cover. Directly across from Katherine, the final woman was in sparkly gold latex, with a dark red hood emerging underneath, matching red rubber gloves covering her arms to the shoulder and a red rubber gas mask attached to her face.

All the gowns were very tight and obviously designed to limit the women’s movements. The two black gowns were even tightened around the thighs and legs with bright white rubber straps, to emphasise the confining nature of the dress.

The women were each accompanied by a large male figure in heavy black rubber with identical full head covering gas masks with large clear visors exposing full enclosure rubber hoods beneath. Each muscular rubberised figure was wearing elaborate breathing gear on his back. This was feeding complex arrangements of hoses connected to the gas masks covering their hooded faces.

The women were each seated by the maître d’ at which point their male companion knelt beside the chair and strapped the woman’s skirt to it using rubber straps built into the chair’s legs. They stood, then using other straps built into the back of the chair, each man attached his female companion to the back, pulling the straps tightly enough to cause some breathing discomfort. The women’s arms, however, were left free, the straps passing under them and around their torsos beneath the substantial latex encased bust each woman displayed.

As each woman was secured to her chair, her rubberised companion pushed the chair up to the table and then took up a position behind it, hands clasped behind backs in a parade rest stance, observing the women’s dinner silently.

The women seemed quite content to be bound to their chairs and quickly removed their gas masks and gags, as rubber sealed waiters brought round pre-filled wine glasses. They were chatting and Katherine heard laughter from the table at some comment one of them made.

“What is going on there?” Katherine indicated the round table with her left hand, clutching her wine glass carefully. Her diamond bracelet glittered, taking a photo of the group.

Richard followed her glance and let out a little sound of surprise.

“Huh. Rubber death cult. I did not know they had their last suppers here.”

“What did you say?”

“Rubber death cult. They are members of a cult which chooses five women and five men each month. The party meets and has an elegant, final meal for the women. Afterwards, the men kill each woman. They must be dining here tonight. I did not realize Bondi's catered to the cult.”

“Kill each woman? What, murder them? Why?” Katherine asked in horror.

Richard shrugged his shoulders causing the latex of his jacket to reflect the light liquidly. “Not murder, per se. Each woman has signed over her rights and has requested this form of exit. They are completely consensual participants. That is what the cult is all about.”

“Why do they do that? And why do the men kill them?”

“Reasons for joining the cult vary. Most of the female members seek an objectified, submissive rubber life, serving in the cult as sexual objects for the use and abuse of other members. Mostly, they just want to live and to die as rubberised objects. The men are sadistic dominants, of course, and get an intense sexual thrill from ending them; that is their primary reason for joining.”

“How do they ‘end’ them, as you say.” Katherine’s voice was almost a whisper as she stared at the group, mesmerized.

“The men are trained to snap their necks in a single, quick twist. Military style training.” The women will signal their readiness by donning their gas masks after finishing their meal. When all of them are masked, each man will grab his woman’s head and, with a quick twist, it will all be over. The last thing the women see is each other in fine rubber attire, lovely masks, comfortable settings. Not a bad way to die as such things go.”

“I suppose not. It certainly falls within the scope of the international statement of each individual’s rights to a personal death. Will we have to watch, though? I should hope not.”

“No. Look up. See the drape around the table? It will come down to hide the actual moment of grab and twist. And the men will leave by a door in that corner. Each man will carry his woman’s body out to a waiting van for transport to a crematorium. By the time the drape rises again you will not be able to tell anything happened at that table but a friendly dinner for five.”

“And you know this, how?” Katherine asked worriedly. Just what sort of man was she dining with?

“All restaurants that cater to the cult do so in the same manner. It is a documented part of Rubber Society although I have never known anyone in the cult.”

“How do we know they are truly dead? Perhaps it is just a performance.”

“Their deaths will be documented by the coroner before cremation. Their obituaries will appear tomorrow in your own N&E as well as other outlets. I do not believe anyone will ever see the women again, but technically, I suppose all the appropriate people could be in on some grand performance art conspiracy.”

“I’ve – I have never heard of this. Is the cult large? It seems it would run out of members, or at least female members.”

“It was last reported a while back as having fifteen thousand members and growing steadily at about three hundred women per month in this country alone. Losing five will certainly not effect it much. I do not know how rapidly men join it.”

“How are the women chosen each month?”

“Randomly. The moment you join and sign your existence and your rights away, your life is forfeit. Maybe that month, maybe in ten years.”

“Amazing. And rather quiet. I have never heard Rose mention this nor anyone else. Is there a similar cult for submissive men and dominant women?”

“Not that I am aware. This seems to be a dominant, heterosexual male self-selecting group. The interesting thing is that so many women willingly join. And it appears to be unique to Rubber Society. Other BDSM factions do not have anything like it. This is some manifestation of Rubber Society, possibly tied to the objectification possible in total enclosure latex. “

“How do you know so much about it?”

“I did a treatise on it at university, looking at it as a form of performance art. I have published a couple monographs on it since in my capacity as art critic and/or historian for Rubber Society.”

“Would you be a member? Ever?”

Richard laughed quietly. Two waiters arrived with their meals and placed covered plates before them. With a flourish, the two rubberised automatons, sealed in glistening black latex with white bondage strap harnesses, lifted the covers to reveal beautifully presented meals of fish and veal garnished with vegetables. Katherine’s waiter took a moment to pour a bit of sauce over Katherine’s sole, then the two black rubber objects stood at attention next to the table.

“I enjoy objectification of women. It is one of my fetishes,” Richard continued, unconcerned about any reaction from the waiters. “I am usually dominant and am attracted to a female partner who seeks to lose her identity and her ego in rubber enclosure and submission, but killing someone as a part of that, even if she truly desires it, holds no attraction for me. I prefer my objectified rubber subs to be alive, thank you. Much more fun that way.” He grinned reassuringly from behind his rubber hood as he said it.

One waiter’s AI asked if there was anything else they needed. Richard looked at the table and at Katherine sitting strictly upright, rigid in her rubber corset beneath her silver latex dress, rubberised head tilted slightly upward by the corset around her neck.. Her hands were reaching for her fork, the sole presented in small cubes, gently diced by the chef for ease of consumption by a hooded patron.

“Another glass of wine for us both,” said Richard.

The waiter refilled their glasses from the bottle on the table, then both turned and left, the AI saying, “bon appétit.”

Across the room, Katherine saw waiters bringing covered plates to the five women. On cue they simultaneously lifted the covers to reveal the women’s last meal. The ladies in tight restrictive latex, daintily began eating, happily chatting with each other between bites.

Katherine picked up her fork, a knurled handle making it more secure in a rubber gloved hand. She noticed it was smaller than a normal fork, only three tines wide. Richard noticed her examining the fork. “That is to facilitate getting it into your mouth while hooded. You will naturally not open as wide as usual.”

Katherine nodded as best she could in the tight neck binding of her corset and speared a bite of fish. She brought it to her lips carefully and discovered that, as Richard had said, it was made easier by being a smaller piece on a smaller fork. It slipped past her lips and onto her tongue. The flavor was wonderful, definitely vat grown, light, flaky, the sauce bringing out the flavour and richness of the fish.

“Delicious!” she exclaimed. “Absolutely delicious.”

The two diners ate their meals, enjoying the tastes and textures. Katherine, picked up her asparagus carefully in her rubbered right hand. The asparagus, which was steamed, was still firm as she took a bite.

“How is your veal?” She asked, looking at Richard maneuver a pre-diced bite up to his hooded face.

“Excellent. Very succulent and sublimely flavoured. They grow their own here as they do with your fish. That’s why it is so fresh tasting. It was probably taken from the vat no earlier than this morning. You could never get this freshness from a calf.”

“It is incredibly fresh. That was one of the things I hated most about farmed food; it loses so much in the transit from farm to plate. This asparagus tastes like they fabbed it a few minutes ago and the fish is so fresh and light it is like eating a cloud.”

They ate in silence for a time, then, when finished, Richard ordered espressos for them both. They discussed her feelings about rubber and her growing awareness of the intricacies of Rubber Society. As she dabbed at her mouth with the rubbery serviette, then wiped her gloves clean of any asparagus residue, Katherine found herself gently grasping the two plugs inside her as her libido flared with the experience of fine food, great coffee, tight rubber, and interesting companionship.

Finishing her espresso, she reached out and picked up her gas mask, bringing it to her face and pressing the edge to make it adhere. Richard’s eyebrow rose in question?

“It feels appropriate to put it back on now dinner is finished. I notice others around here doing the same.”

“It is, my dear,” said Richard, donning his own mask. “You do catch on quickly.” The waiter took this as a signal to clear their table, but the two kept chatting. Nothing was rushed at Bondi’s. “Would you care to dance a bit?”

Katherine was entranced. “Yes, thank you.”

Richard hesitated a moment, then said, “I prefer a silent dance partner.”

Taking his meaning, Katherine reached to her face and caressed it in the gesture she had been taught. Beneath her mask, she felt the mouth openings of both her skinsuit and her silver rubber hood close. The sensation was a bit unsettling, organic, almost as if the rubber was crawling over her lips with a life of its own.

Another gesture and Richard watched in fascination as her eyes, behind the gas mask lenses, were covered over in perforated rubber, obscuring but not occluding her vision. He felt his rubber sealed genitals stir strongly as he watched his companion literally disappear behind rubber enclosure.

The two rose and made their gas masked way to the dance floor, Richard leading but making sure Katherine made her way mincingly in her ballet boots and hobbling rubber. Once there, he led her in a slow dance that was, admittedly, little more than two rubberised forms shuffling on the floor, her confinement so extreme that she could hardly manage a box step of less than 10 cm. They looked at each other and could somehow tell that, behind rubber hoods and black and silver gas masks, they were both smiling.

As the music ended, Katherine found herself near to orgasm from the constant stimulating presence of her plugs coupled with the amazingly erotic sensations associated with being silenced by rubber while dancing in contact with Richard’s rubberised maleness. She looked out across the restaurant, savouring the memory of a fantastic meal and a wonderful date.

Her glance fell on the round table in the corner with the five rubber clad women who, she saw, were just donning their gas masks. Suddenly she saw the table and its occupants disappear behind a vast expanse of purple rubber drapery that descended silently to the floor.

You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum

06.07.14