Phoenix

Part 1: A Visit to a Charity Shop

The damned train drivers were on strike again. Another interminable dispute over pay and conditions. For the third time in a month their industrial action had forced me to seek alternative transport. The buses were a lot slower than the train and the route stopped a frustratingly long distance away from my flat. Fortunately it was a pleasant enough early-spring evening for the remaining walk.

It was Friday evening and the streets were already bustling with folks briskly making their way home. The bars were filling and I was jealous not to be among their throng, toasting the arrival of the weekend. The girls from the office had invited me out for the traditional after-work Friday drinkies, but I begrudgingly declined having already made arrangements for the following evening.

The walk home from the bus stop took me through a small shopping area in a leafy outer suburb of Birmingham. It was a pretty area and one could be forgiven for not realising they were so close to one of England's largest cities.

While passing the shops my attention was grabbed by a bright flash of light off to the side. Backing up a couple of steps the glint caught my eye again, bright and piercing. It came from the direction of a charity shop and, peering through the window, I saw that the flash was caused by the low golden evening sun reflecting off a mirror. Intrigued, and with time on my hands, I decided to take a closer look.

The mirror was something of an unexpected treasure. The glass was oval in shape and around 2 feet high. The edge of the glass was decorated with intricate silver filigree sculpted into ivy-like fronds. The glass had seen better days and was marred by some tarnishing, it's silver backing had disintegrated a little in places, creating dead areas which no longer reflected. It was at once beautiful, yet impractical.

However, what really caught my attention was the large wooden trunk upon which the mirror rested. A beautifully rustic construction, reminiscent of the natural driftwood one might find washed up on a tropical beach, the surface rutted into intricate organic patterns as if the ocean had carved a millennia of history into it. A substantial black iron catch kept the lid securely shut.

Having moved the surprisingly heavy mirror from atop the chest I struggled to open the catch but it would not budge.

"We haven't been able to open it either" said a young man whom had silently appeared.

"Such a shame, I love it."

The assistant explained a little about how the trunk and mirror had been donated to the shop following a house clearance. The owner had become ill, suffering a breakdown of some sort. A very sad tale, she had been ultimately admitted to a sanatorium and her possessions donated to charity at the behest of her family.

Despite the melancholy history, I purchased the beautiful trunk for an embarrassingly cheap price, and delivery was arranged for the following day. I resisted the assistant's best efforts to sell me the matching mirror, deciding it was too damaged to economically restore.

Twenty minutes later I was opening the front door of my two bedroom flat. Jacket and and purse were quickly discarded onto the couch in the living room, and my aching feet were freed from their 3 inch torture with a motion a Premiership striker would be proud of. After a cursory scan of my master bedroom I decided on the trunk's new location at the foot of my bed. It's new purpose in life to store towels and bedding.

But for now, it had been a long hard week and my feet were killing me ... it was definitely wine o'clock.

~~~~~

My work required me to work long hours during the week and so weekends were where I usually caught up on chores around the flat. I blitzed the housework and restocked the kitchen with a delivery from the local supermarket. Not owning a car myself, I usually took the admittedly lazy option of ordering on-line. The handsome young delivery chap was very pleasant on the eye and I couldn't help but check out his tight ass as he effortlessly manhandled the grocery palettes into the small kitchen.

"There we go Miss, all present and correct" he stated with a warm smile, handing me the manifest. He was tipped well for his troubles.

At around 11am the new trunk was delivered. It looked magnificent at the foot of my bed. However repeated attempts to free the catch still proved frustratingly futile.

My night out with friends was fast approaching, and so the liberation of the trunk would have to wait for another time. The rest of the afternoon was spent pampering myself in readiness for the evening's festivities. A long soak in the bath always worked wonders – a good wallow in steaming hot water, buried under a mountain of bubbles; a good book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Pure Heaven.

The evening would start with a meal and then onto a nightclub till the early hours. Maybe, just maybe I would also meet Mr Right, or at least Mr Hung Like a Donkey. My love life was pretty disappointing. At twenty two years old, I hadn't been in a meaningful long term relationship with a guy for some time, as my Mother was only too quick to point out.

I dated regularly but had never found the spark to pursue a more serious relationship. Neither promiscuous nor easy, a young woman nevertheless has needs, and consequently my love life read like a list of casual flings and unsatisfying sexual partners.

Something had to change in my life. The rut was getting deeper and I feared that eventually it would be too deep to escape. But it wasn't that easy .. I needed to understand myself before I could find someone to complete me.

Before heading out, I had one last check in front of the full length mirror inside the wardrobe door. My trusty little black dress clung to my shapely toned body flatteringly, hugging hips and ass snugly. Regular visits to the gym helped keep my body in good shape, and at times like this the hard work really paid off. My long blonde hair cascaded in styled ringlets almost down to my breasts. The cut of the dress somehow managed to squeeze a little extra cleavage out of my ample bosom.

The dress was short, but not in a slutty way, and my freshly waxed and oiled legs shimmered all the way down to a pair of black patent leather pumps. The heel choice was sensible. With hours of walking and dancing ahead I did not want to end up a cripple. If .. no, dammit, WHEN Mr Right turned up I wanted him to sweep me off my feet, not push me home in a wheelchair.

A car horn announced the arrival of the taxi. With a final mist of J'Adore it was time to go.

~~~~~

We half stumbled, half fell though the door into my flat, giggling like naughty teenagers.

"So, how about that coffee?" I asked him, drunkenly weaving to the kitchen.

"Sure. Coffee, sounds great" he replied, closing the door and setting the locks.

With the kettle coming to the boil I called out "It'll be a couple of minutes, grab a seat!"

Two hands squeezed my ass cheeks making me jump. He groped roughly, the way drunk guys do when they mistake passion for heavy-handedness.

"OK" he slurred "I choose this seat".

Surprise turned to pleasure as his left hand reached round to grab my breast while his right hand began raising the hem of my dress.

"Actually, I'm not thirsty anymore" he breathed in my ear, the smell of Tequila was strong and acrid. His fingers touched my puss, and I melted.

I sensed immediately how the night was going to end. There would be no connection, no meeting of souls, he was after just one thing. And despite myself I would be complicit.

The kettle clicked and ceased it's fury. He lifted me in his arms and carried me over the threshold of my bedroom and half dropped me onto the bed as he stumbled and grunted, hitting his shin on the new trunk. He reached under my dress and removed my sopping wet panties. I was in the moment, horny as hell, and needing release.

Grinning and perspiring he tossed my panties over his shoulder. They landed on the lid my new trunk like a splat of white paint. After unceremoniously shuffling me up the bed, he entered my pussy without even removing his trousers ... oh the romance.

After a couple of minutes of clumsy thrusting he twitched, grunted, and collapsed on me, clearly his part in proceedings was complete.

I stared at my trunk over his shoulder, feeling sadness that a thing of beauty had been sullied by my soiled underwear. I felt a familiar emptiness and that once again my wings had been clipped and I had been left frustrated and forsaken.

~~~~~

Annoyingly loud bird song heralded a new dawn.

My date had already ridden off into the sunset; his farewell gift an African drum beating relentlessly in my head. I took a couple of Aspirin and a long hot shower, eager to wash away the stain of the previous night.

I scooped up my knickers from where they draped over the trunk's latch and somehow they caught under the iron hasp, and to my astonishment the latch lifted open! The lock had been so immovable the previous day, and yet opened so easily now. A further surprise was that my panties were clean and dry, not a sign of my juices to be found. How could that be? They had been so wet when Casanova had removed them. I was too hungover to ponder it further, the drums in my head were seriously hindering my ability to think straight.

The lid was heavy yet opened smoothly as if the hinges had been freshly oiled. It was spotless inside, no dust, no dirt, no cobwebs. Nothing to suggest the trunk had been unused for any length of time.

The grain of the wooden lid was fascinating and I dreamily searched for shapes within, like one does with clouds. I found a shape which seemed familiar. An animal? No, not an animal. A bird? I smiled, tracing the rutted grain with my fingertips. Now it was a bird with large outspread wings, head pointing vertically as if reaching for the sky. Beneath the bird was a knot in the wood. The way the wood contoured and flowed around the knot gave the impression of flames growing from it .. like it was on fire.

I absently whispered to myself, "A bird rising from a fire .. a Phoenix!"

Recalling the previous night, and my post coital lament, it struck me as ironic that I should find the suggestion of a Phoenix in the grain. A beautiful creature reborn out of lifeless ashes. I smiled and wondered what Freud would make of that little epiphany.

My phone chimed the arrival of a message. I tossed my panties into the trunk and closed it with a solid thud.

Once dressed I headed over to Mother's for Sunday dinner. Last night would definitely not be a topic of conversation!

~~~~~

That night I had an exceptionally vivid and intense sexual dream.

I was in my bedroom in my flat but, oddly, I was looking down from high up in a corner of the room. I saw myself, standing erect at the foot of my bed, hands crossed behind my back. It was a peculiar feeling to watch oneself from afar as if observing events unfold for a character in a story, yet the character was me.

She, well I, was wearing hold up stockings made out of a wonderfully shiny black material which I assumed to be rubber. Covering her pussy were some black panties in the same material. She was also wearing long black rubber opera gloves. Her breasts were uncovered, nipples erect.

She looked amazing. I was fascinated by the way the material caught and reflected the flickering light from the many candles in the room. The jet black colour of the rubber against her - against my - milky skin was perfection. I wondered if I would possibly look that good in real life.

A man entered the room. It was Casanova from the other night. I had hoped to forget about him, yet he had found his way back into my dreams! He approached her, and I winced as he grabbed her throat with one of his large hands and kissed her deeply. She responded in kind, but kept her hands behind her back.

Instantly I was aware of pressure around my own neck. Startled, I felt my neck with my hands but there was nothing there; yet I could feel something rough and warm gripping my throat. The dream was feeling bizarrely real.

Watching the scene unfold I began to feel a little excited. I don't know why, maybe it was the thrill of something new, an element of danger perhaps? But the scene was surely affecting me.

He demanded she get on the bed, which she duly did without question, crawling up it on all fours, ass wriggling teasingly before laying on her back.

It was starting to look a little like deja vu from our previous encounter .. why would I want to put myself through it again, and even watch it all in cinematic glory. At least it would be over quickly I sarcastically thought.

He climbed on top of her and sat on her hips. I felt the same pressure on my own hips. He tied each of her wrists with some rope that was already anchored to the posts at the head of the bed. And sure enough I felt a tightening around my own wrists too. Still there was nothing physically touching me to cause such a sensation. I was feeling what I was seeing.

This was certainly an interesting and welcome departure from the expected proceedings.

Shuffling backwards down the bed he then tied her ankles with ropes which were attached to the posts at the foot of the bed.

I watched transfixed as he took one of the thick bed pillows and eased it under her buttocks, raising the hips from the black rubber sheets. I hadn't noticed the sheets before, they looked beautiful.

He produced a flick knife from his back pocket. I instinctively shouted a warning from my vantage point.

"Look out!"

Neither of them reacted nor gave any sign that my outburst had been heard. I was clearly just a silent spectator in this dream.

He sliced the two straps of her panties and removed them with a sharp tug, exposing her pussy. I felt a cool air sensation on my own puss and shivered. He scrunched the rubber panties into a ball and put them in her accommodating mouth. Touching her lips as if to say "Shhh" he removed his trousers and boxers. A strange taste had also formed in my mouth, I assumed it to be the taste of rubber. It was not particularly pleasant and I hoped the panties would be removed again soon!

Although he appeared to be the same guy from last night in most respects, he was certainly a more exaggerated form. His body was more muscular. His cock was also exaggerated; large, thick and long. I cowered at the thought of her, of me, having to take it all inside, but I watched on helplessly. I didn't have any control over the dream; and perversely I wanted to see this through to the end, whatever that might be.

He got on the bed again and positioned himself between her stretched thighs. He put the head of his cock to her pussy and astonishingly I also felt pressure at my own entrance. I gasped, afraid I would have to endure what she was about to endure.

He slowly pushed forward, deeper and deeper and I felt my pussy stretch and fill as an echo of what I was watching. Panicking, I clasped my hand over my pussy in a futile effort to prevent it's progress. There was nothing physically entering me, yet I felt every swollen inch; every engorged vein of that phantom cock.

When he was finally in her up to the hilt I felt like I would rip open. Clearly sharing my own anguish, I saw her eyes widen, glassy, pupils fully dilated, groaning in discomfort at her stretched pussy. It looked grotesque with that huge thing inside her.

My pussy was tingling with other sensations as he started sliding in and out. Slowly and carefully at first, but building in speed and vigour as he proceeded to press her hips deeply into the pillow. He would withdraw almost all the way, and then thrust back in up to the hilt, pelvis banging pelvis with considerable force.

I felt a strong squeeze on my hips as I saw him take her in his vice like grip. His fingers dug into her soft flesh as he pulled her harder onto his thrusts.

He was becoming rougher, pounding her hard and fast. His fingernails pressed deep into her flesh. It was painful, yet I did not mind the pain, the euphoria I was feeling numbed the worst of it. Despite how brutal it looked, the sensation of being manhandled and used so forcefully was perversely exciting. My arousal was building to what I knew would be a huge release.

Even for a dream, events were becoming too intense for me. Panting now, a wave of excitement was quickly building deep within me.

She and I both suddenly howled out loud, like two pack wolves, as I felt my pussy convulse when a powerful orgasm took me. Lost in the moment, I wanted to grab the guy's ass and pull him deep into me so that we could ride the wave together, but alas I could not interact. I saw the same frustration on her face, her bound limbs preventing her from taking any form of control of proceedings.

The guy pulled out of her and got off the bed.

My pussy suddenly felt empty and I could feel something hot and wet on my inner thigh. I wiped at it with my hand but my fingers remained dry. My thighs were dry. However, the woman on the bed had a trail of cum slowly dribbling from her swollen, reddened pussy lips.

Remaining silent he got dressed again, left the room and closed the door with a click, leaving her still trussed to the bed and breathing heavily.

I watched her awhile. Watched myself bound on the bed until the candles burned to the end of their wicks. And as they extinguished one by one, the dream darkened and faded.

At the point of blackness I woke up with a start. My body was covered in a film of perspiration and there was a large wet patch under my pussy - clearly the dream had elicited a very physical reaction from me in the real world.

The alarm clock showed 5.30am.

My pussy felt a little sore and I found some tiny bruises on my hips. What the hell?? I assumed that I must have done it to myself somehow while dreaming.

I would have to get up to go to work in a couple of hours so I took the opportunity to grab my laptop and a coffee and Google some of the things that I'd seen and experienced in the dream. "Tied to the bed" .. "Gagged" .. "Rubber" .. "Fetish". There was a never-ending resource of sites, images and videos for me to explore. I had never looked at that sort of stuff before, but found it fascinating, thought provoking and arousing.

The dream had definitely sparked my interest in fetish and bondage gear, but I was amazed at how much that stuff cost. I imagined myself dressing up in the items on the websites, and using the bondage equipment. The deeper I looked, the more intrigued I became.

The alarm clock chimed. Time to get ready for work. Reluctantly I closed the laptop having saved many bookmarks for later "research". I had many other search terms in my head I wanted to explore too, but that would have to wait for another time.

~~~~~

The Monday commute was always the worst of the week. Grumpy people were everywhere, Monday's Jekyll to Friday's Hyde.

I struggled all morning to concentrate. My job as a paralegal in a law firm was demanding, but I could simply not focus. There was a pile of paperwork on my desk but I kept daydreaming about the events of the weekend.

At lunchtime I made excuses to stay behind in the office while the girls went out to grab some food from Pret. I wanted to do some more personal research. Company policy was to not limit access to the internet because we needed it to perform research for the cases we handled. Often our research required us to visit certain websites which might ordinarily be blocked. The research I had in mind would definitely test the most lenient of policies.

Looking at the fetish gear on the internet was all well and good, but I wanted to touch it, taste it, feel it against my skin. A search turned up a fetish shop in the city called "Surrender". There was very little information available, most of the site's pages were protected behind a membership system. I found a phone number and an address which I made a note of on my mobile.

The countdown to 5pm dragged for an eternity. My plan was to detour and visit Surrender on my way home. I had butterflies just thinking about going there.

I hurried to the address, avoiding eye contact with everyone in case I would be recognised. No one else could know about my new interests ... I would be a pariah, it would destroy my very conservative, respectable career. This was a dangerous move, potentially professionally suicidal, yet the desire in me drove me forward. Fortunately the shop was down an alleyway, away from the main pedestrian thoroughfares.

The shop windows were a smoky colour which effectively hid the belly of the store from casual view. The door was locked. I pressed a call button next to a card access unit.

Nothing happened for some time until an electrical buzz announced the opening of the door and a beautiful young woman appeared. I was struck by her outfit; black rubber leggings and a white rubber blouse, gaping just enough to expose her considerable cleavage. She was tall, due in part to her high heels. My charcoal pencil dress suit felt very drab next to this woman's stunningly shiny attire.

"Hello honey, can I help you?"

"Hi. May I come in and look around?" I stuttered, trying to control the nervous excitement in my voice.

"Aww, I'm sorry but I am just closing up"

Seriously doubting I would have the nerve to come to the shop again, and that it may well be the only chance I would have to scratch my very distracting itch, I tried to argue my cause.

"Please .. just 5 minutes? I won't be buying, I just need to look inside"

"Need?"

Acutely aware I had been stood at the doorstep of a fetish shop for more time than felt comfortable I skittishly scanned the alley for the arrival of any witnesses to my presence.

"It's hard to explain, I just need to look."

"Sorry, but I really can't let you in today. This is a private shop and admittance is via membership or invitation only."

My pathetic demeanour must have bought me some sympathy and she softened a little. She reached behind the door and handed me a glossy brochure.

"Here. Take this, perhaps it will suffice for now."

The brochure seemed to be a catalogue of sorts and I quickly hid it away from view in my bag.

"Thank you" I blushed

"It's just a sample of what we can provide for members"

I was grateful for the brochure, but disappointment must have been clear from my expression.

"And take this card .. consider it an invite to visit us again" she added with a warm smile. She disappeared back into the shop and the door latched.

My feelings were mixed. My plan had been dashed, but fate had thrown me a golden ticket in the form of a business card.

I quickly headed to the train station, eager to get home.

Having poured myself a large glass of Prosecco I settled down to browse the catalogue. I thumbed through pages and pages of beautiful pictures of shiny rubber clothing, bondage items and sex toys. The photography was excellent, the pictures were detailed and evocative. I made a mental list of the most intriguing items and those that turned me on. It was a surprisingly long list.

Once my glass was drained I headed for bed making sure my shower was colder than normal in an effort to calm my heightened ardour.

The catalogue had to be kept somewhere safe in case people turned up unannounced. I put it in my new trunk, closed the latch and climbed under the duvet.

My mind dwelled on the catalogue. Pictures were ok, but they only added further to my frustration, I wanted to touch the items. I didn't understand why I needed to touch so badly, I just knew that I would not be able to rest until I had. I vowed to return to the shop again as soon as I could work up the courage.

~~~~~

An eerie glow in the bedroom roused me from my slumber. The intensity grew and faded rhythmically, as if a dimmer switch was being repeatedly turned up and down.

I peered through the curtains to see if it was being caused by a vehicle outside. The street was empty, 3.20am shone on the digital alarm clock.

"What the hell" I slurred, only half awake.

Once compos mentis, the source of the strange glow was not hard to find. The grain of my new trunk was glowing red in a slow pulsing wave. I instinctively backed away, fearing it was about to explode. Although the glow was intense at it's peak, there was no discernible heat.

I was at a loss for what to do. Imagine the reaction if I called 999 and reported a glowing trunk in my bedroom. The only person I could possibly call was Mum. On the brink of making the call the trunk stopped pulsing and remained lit. The phone slipped from my hand as I realised the pattern that was glowing in the lid .... it was the Phoenix which I had found in the grain the day the trunk was delivered. It looked beautiful, but I was freaking out.

Mouth agape, I watched and waited with bated breath to see if anything else was going to happen. The room became dark again, and all was still.

"Am I going mad? What on earth just happened?"

After a couple of minutes I tentatively touched the trunk with trembling fingers. It felt cool and wooden, exactly like a trunk should feel.

Swallowing hard and staying at arms length I flipped up the iron catch, half expecting a Jack-in-the-box to leap out at me.

Feeling a little braver I lifted the lid and peered inside. The catalogue was still where I had tossed it. I removed it, but where my white cotton panties had been there was now a pair of black rubber ones!

Shocked, I let the lid fall shut with a solid thud, and scurried on my hands and knees as far away from the trunk as I could get.

"What the fuck!" I shouted

How did those get in there, and where were my white cotton ones? I flicked on the bedroom light. With the darkness held at bay I felt plucky, and grabbing a knife from the kitchen I quickly searched the flat for any sign of an intruder. The front door was still securely locked and all windows were closed.

With my initial panic now under control, I reopened the trunk. The rubber panties were carefully removed from the trunk using the knife and placed on my bed. They were the darkest shade of black I had ever seen and the shine was stunning. My research had taught me that the shine on rubber clothing was achieved by polishing it with an agent. However there was no oily residue on the panties, it was like the rubber was naturally glossy.

Unable to resist any longer I took them in my hands, and gasped. They felt incredible; light yet with body, slick yet dry, firm yet elastic.

I still could not comprehend what had happened, but I did not feel so afraid anymore. There was no immediate physical danger, no intruder in the flat who could have orchestrated the events.

Curious beyond reason, at that moment I knew I had to try them on, more than anything in the world. Here was my chance to actually wear the material against my skin. I was shaking again, but this time in anticipation not fear.

Discarding my silk pyjamas I stepped into the rubber underwear and gingerly pulled them up my legs. Goosebumps formed as the material lightly brushed against my calves and knees.

My breathing and pulse had quickened. Excitement building as the material moved up my legs, stretching supplely as it passed over my toned thighs.

Once past the top of my thighs and over my buttocks, the material returned to its original elasticity and settled snuggly into place between my butt cheeks and around my crotch. The grip was light and secure as if they were custom made and sized perfectly just for me. The rubber initially felt cool, but warmed quickly with body heat. The feeling was electric, my knees had become a little weak. A fire had started in my puss.

The panties felt so wonderfully part of me as I paraded around the room. I could feel my moisture forming behind the material.

The mirror in the wardrobe allowed me to view the full glory. Not a wrinkle or flaw to be seen. Jet black rubber against milky skin. It was like the material had become part of my skin, they didn't pull into my tummy or hips or cause unsightly bulges like my regular ones could do. Instead the material flowed with my curves in a beautifully erotic way. Literally a perfect fit.

The rubber was so supple and delicate that my pubes could be seen in relief through the front panel, I would need to attend to that in due course.

It was very late and I decided to get some sleep or the next day would be a write off. There was still a mountain of work to do on the Patterson case.

I decided to keep the panties in the trunk, not convinced how safe it would be to wear them any longer in case there were any side effects ... especially until I had solved the mystery of the magic trunk. I brushed my hand over the grain.

"What the hell are you? Are you really a magic box? I don't believe in magic, but I don't understand what happened tonight. Did you make these for me, they fit so perfectly? How did you make them? Why did you make them? And why the hell am I talking to a box?"

It was then that I noticed something different about the cover of the catalogue. There were new words that hadn't been there before. In large red scrawl it read "GET THE MIRROR!"

story continued in part two
o0o