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Finding Her Love
of Latex:
He’d literally
bumped into her at the
office party; nothing much to look at, unless you managed to see
beneath the
plain clothing, the hair kept deliberately long and worn forwards to
cover the
face as much as possible, and the flat nurse-type shoes. His drink had
slopped
a bit, but her apologies had been so profuse that he’d penetrated the
camouflage. What he’d found had both delighted and excited him. She was
a
canvas on which he would paint... in tones of black, liquid latex: a
study in
sensuality.
He found out
that she’d been brought up
in a strictly religious household. Beaten and subdued by parents to
keep her
chaste; they had then abandoned her to her own devices when they found
a faster
way to heaven in a car crash. She had avoided any kind of contact,
other than
work, and the attendance at the party had been something she’d felt she
couldn’t turn down in person and so, for the first time in her life,
she’d
given in to a whim. She softened in the face of his attention like
rubber in
the heat of the sun. When he’d suggested they leave together, she’d
instantly
agreed... totally trusting.
His first gift
for her had been a new
outfit; “...head to toe”; he had to do something to get her out of the
plaids
and cardigans... so he took the opportunity to suggest that the fairly
conservative business suit might not be complete without the most
modern
underwear that was definitely “...all the rage” amongst young women in
the
city. He showed her through an online Latex and Lovers catalogue when
they’d
got back to the office from a late lunch and encouraged her to pick out
some
items. Her eyes had widened in amazement at first sight, “Do people
really wear
these clothes, she’d asked him; naive, like a child in a sweet shop.
“Of course
they do. The girls in reception are probably wearing their rubber
thongs and
latex suspender belts right now. And haven’t you noticed the boss’s
secretary
in her shiny latex stockings? She wears one of those corsets every
single day.
How else would she keep a wasp-waisted figure like hers?”
Thunderstruck,
she’d clicked through
the pages, her mouth a perfect ‘O’: as the photographs slid by,
reflected in
her glasses.
He’d talked her
into a heavy latex
waist-cincher, a suspender belt with wide straps and chunky metal
buckles and
two pairs of rubber stockings. “If you find you like wearing latex, you
can be
assured I will buy you more”, he told her. Her protest had been a weak
one:
“But you’ll know what I’m wearing... underneath my clothes.” He kissed
her on
the top of her head as he said, “That’s kind-of the point, darling,”
mentally
licking his lips at the thought of the suspender buckles making little
bumps in
the slick material of the thin black skirt they’d already bought.
“We’ll need
to buy you shoes too: stilettos. Throw all of these flatties out as
quickly as
possiblePerfect.”
The clothing had
appeared quickly, one
Saturday morning; plain little packages that promised so much. As she
opened
them and laid the waspie, the stockings and suspender-belt out on her
quilt,
her heart was fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird with an
unfamiliar
excitement. ‘Can I really wear these things?’ she thought to herself.
She began
to read through the documents that accompanied the clothing;
instructions on
how to care for her latex and how to wear it properly. As she did, that
very
particular aroma of new latex filled her nostrils with a scent both
forbidden
and strangely erotic. Her heart continued to flutter.
A little later,
and she stood in front
of the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door, looking at a woman that
she had
never seen before. A beautiful woman; smooth skin accentuated by the
shining
dusky latex; a woman realising her true sexuality for the first time.
Unbidden,
her hands smoothed down across the flattened curves of her belly and
onto the
front panel of the suspender belt. She luxuriated in the feelings of
completeness and containment that the second-skin was giving her. It
was then
that she knew she would give herself to him. That she would always want
to feel
like this. That her love for him and her love of latex would forever
blend
together, intertwined, indivisible.
As she pulled up
the skirt he’d given
her across the columns of legs now glossy black with glowing latex, she
smiled
sweetly into the mirror once more... and the bird was free.
OSA for Latex
and Lovers. November,
2009.
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