Latex Fetish Stories

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Latex Fetish Stories

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You know, I kind of wish I’d found a cheaper inclination. Like, you know, meth, or Warhammer 40K. It’s probably the price, as much as the initial association with the marketing that put me off it.
My first real life latex fetish experience was the Swede wearing a clear singlet, one size too large, to go dancing. At time I found the texture of sweat and warm rubber interesting. Still, there was the two barriers: the cost and my association with the fetish with the very male gaze version of femdom. Full body latex was generally sold with the harsh, perfect dominatrix and the emotionally unreadable sub.
So, initially it was one of those things I decided I was neutral about. I figured if it popped up, I’d try it. But, life, to this point, didn’t give me a lot of freedom to do so, before putting down what is still a significant amount of money. Plus, I knew I liked more obvious things like corsets, so when I could afford it, there my money went.
This year was the down the rabbit hole. Plague year or not, my collection has, snrk… ballooned. Blame Silver, yes, but also this wouldn’t have been possible were it not for my own desires.
Seeing play partners endure shredded latex did the most to put me off it. Nothing scares a broke baby kinkster away more than seeing your friend convert his new legging to hot pants. All it took was a little skid against the floor, to put a hole the size of my hand in them. On the first time wear! I learned it would basically shrivel in the face of exposure to sunlight, or oil, or heat. No. Thank. You.
In college, I was still buying most of my kink gear at clearance tables at Urban Planet. (Reader please note, pleather booty shorts come into season almost every other year) . The closest to real kink intended shopping was a going out of business sales of a local sex shop. That was a depressing windfall, but a bounty nonetheless. However, there the red latex gloves I bought for a song proved too challenging to get on. Other than discovering that inner tubes from old bike tires made a fun alternative bondage material, that was it.
Northbound Leather was a first chance to try things on. They just happened to have a size medium, blue shiny latex hoodie dress, and I fell in love. Front zippered, easy and durable. The model in Polymorphe ‘s catalogue doesn’t go it the justice it deserves. Not for her looks, of course. Blame her contrasting firey hair, and the copper tint the photograph gives her skin with the azure material.
On me, that blue hoodie dress was the first stirrings of a latex fetish for real. It transformed it from fabrics that (seemingly) exploded when you breathed on them and tasted bitter. Now I could believe I could not immediately destroy it, dress myself, and then there was the delicious squeezing…
I love all things that compress and wrap the body. I have a place in my heart for tailoring and flat lines, true, but oh, boning and straps and ties! Knits that caress around where I curve, or better cinching tight waists. Bind it, press it down, wrap in. With my desires including the spectrum of bondage and masochism, I have no shame to say I like my clothes to even hurt sometimes.
I only sort of joke that my first and most faithful submissive is my own body. (Other than the anxiety disorder and migraines, you brat!) I want it to hurt. Silver in first real explorations, picked up on that and knows the level of firm I like. I still have fond memories of him, reverent and looking on the valley of my bare breasts, asking, softy, “Biting?” Latex encasing me in no way makes me feel powerless.
If the dress hugged and slithered around me just so, it was still many years away from first try to purchase. Still, the thought of it lingered and inspired, looked at, and priced. The cost crept up a bit with inflation, but it was on the someday list, nonetheless. And it became an accidentally on purpose sexy seed, teasing Silver at first courtship.
“I might play a particular LARP character, but you know, just as an excuse to buy a latex hoodie dress. See? Here’s link.”
After our relationship became real, I bought that dress. I stubbornly would not let him buy it for me. Instead, I saved up and got it in a pandemic safe hand off from Deadly Courture. I had to do it for me.
The other purchase was the more ambiguously fated latex thigh high stockings from Eustratia . Her designs are amazing. The fit, when I put the stockings on for the first time, was like a shot of pure silky, sexy joy. But the feet developed cracks, and I mailed them back, where they languish in international repair limbo. Which is a tragedy, because she has some of the most unique designs out there. My pocket book is in serious trouble if I get back those stockings as they should be.
At the same time he and I were making metaphorical eyes at each other, he was also getting his first piece. A Libidex (his favourite retailer) black cat suit came on sale and he sent me pictures. As a result, I had the second sex dream about him ever. That was new record, as every other person to this point only merited one. But, something about the slim, sleek perfect blackness inspired something and I work up from vivid sense and visual memories of grinding myself on him to orgasm.
We followed that up with going shopping, in late January. Deadly Couture is apparently moving their physical shop from Gas Town in Vancouver. I will miss their elegant, split floor premises, but I am sure the new place will be just as good, post Covid. At the time it was an immersion into a wonderland.
Silver, for his part, had a delightfully entranced expression. We shyly poked around racks and bins of the Fetish corner of the shop, supervised by a woman in full latex, complete with galoshes on her feet. The scent in the air was a cloying, organic bitterness, pulling up memories of summertime tire swings.
We bought a hood and collar, and almost a form fitting dress with strategic red zippers, but my own shyness wouldn’t let him but that for me (yet).
The last in person visit before covid was Valentine’s 2020. I talked more about adventures with his latex cat suit here . As the relationship began to get more and more serious, in that month by month way you establish new normal, I came to trust Silver more. The result, ever increasing stretchy rubber gifts. A corset waisted pencil skirt. Stockings. Opera length gloves. Another sale has earned me a cat suit of my own, waiting for a try on.
Now he’s got a latex sleep sack and an armbinder, the former tested in a p re-election visit where I also took his technical virginity . There’s more stockings coming me way, and I honestly have no idea if he’ll succumb to temptation over Black Friday and produce another “surprise”.
I actually had to tell him to shop for himself a bit more too. I’m definitely enjoying the ability to do full outfits, but I kind of can’t wait to see what he gets to wear too.
And as I write this, that brand new cat suit is already begging for me to gloss myself up and struggle into it. Yum, perfect.
One of the more long running, cross-scene kink events is the Montreal Fetish Weekend, a multi-day little sister of things like the Folsom Street Fair. Taking advantage of the city's traditionally liberal attitudes, it's a giant party and celebration of BDSM and fetish. Unfortunately not only is Herr_Kommadant a regular…
I do my own stunts The saga of this latex stockings review is one of a few bumps and hiccups, but ultimately a lovely product. I won't bury the lede, this is one of my favorite items in my growing fetish wardrobe. However these full length latex stockings, lovely or…
1) We are people too, and all the vanilla courtesies still apply. For you as well as me. 2) Don't fawn all over us; you will sound like a tool. Don't call us "Mistress", "Goddess" or "Lady" unless we tell you to. Don't try to act like our sub without…
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Silent Street is one of the ancient thoroughfares in the town of Ipswich in Suffolk, England. No one knows for certain how the name came about, but one theory is that, during an outbreak of plague in 1665, the death toll amongst the residents of this street was particularly high, and thereafter the area fell ‘silent’. The story below, however, gives a more modern twist as to why the name might be apt!



Felicity’s eyes scanned the leaflet through for a second time, just in case she’d somehow misread it on the first occasion. But there was no mistake. The piece of paper that had been waiting on her doormat when she’d arrived home from work wasn’t of particularly good quality, and appeared to not be exactly professionally produced in its layout or design; fairly amateurish, in fact.

But that was never going to be a major concern for Felicity, as the offer was exactly what she’d been waiting for, and seemed almost too good to be true.

Specialist Modelling Assignments

We’re looking for women aged 18 -25 in your area who fancy a career in modelling

No previous experience necessary

When?Wednesday 28th November 2018 from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m.

Where?‘Solitude Studios’ Silent Street, Ipswich.

No appointment needed – just turn up on the day

This could be your big break! So what are you waiting for?


Exactly what was meant by ‘Specialist Modelling’, Felicity had no idea. She’d always wanted to try her hand at this sort of thing, however, but to date the opportunity never seemed to have arisen. Now, having always aspired to treading the catwalk, she knew that she simply had to give it a try. If she failed to impress and got rejected, then so be it. But at least she could say that she’d given it her best shot. And at twenty two years old, she fitted the age criteria perfectly! No time to mull it over, however, as the 28th was tomorrow!

And besides, it would give her something to take her mind off the impending court case that was coming up in just over a week’s time, in which she was a vital witness. In fact, that was understating things slightly; she was the key witness around which the whole case revolved. Without her testimony, the whole trial was likely to collapse, with the perpetrator getting away with his heinous crimes. And that, Felicity had decided, was not something that she could allow to happen.

The case concerned an assault that Felicity had just happened to be in the right - or perhaps the wrong - place to witness at the time in question. She’d been in the convenience store that evening, picking up a few items on her way home from work, when he’d suddenly appeared in the shop. With a scarf covering the lower half of his face, and brandishing a knife, he’d threatened the shopkeeper with violence if he didn’t hand over the contents of the till. What he’d failed to realise, at least at first, was that there was anyone else on the premises; Felicity having been hidden behind a row of shelves at the time. It was only after the terrified shop owner had handed over his hard earned takings, just as the robber was about to make his getaway, that he’d clocked Felicity peering at the unfolding scene from her vantage point by the tinned food section. For a moment he’d frozen in his tracks and waved the knife menacingly in her direction, albeit from several yards away, in a gesture meant to convey the message ‘don’t approach or try to follow’. This face to face standoff lasted only a second or two, however, before he’d turned on his heels and exited the shop at high speed.

But what made this brief period of time significant was that, although of such short duration, Felicity had instantly recognised the thief, despite his attempts at disguising his identity with the makeshift mask. For the man who fled the shop with his ill-gotten gains was none other than a guy she’d been at school with. Although she’d not laid eyes on him for several years, and despite the fact that they had never been close friends, Felicity still knew the instant that she’d seen him that this was a former classmate by the name of Mike Anderson. And naturally, being a law-abiding citizen who abhorred violence of any kind, she’d informed the police of his identity once they’d turned up on the scene that evening.

The upshot had been that this Mike had been arrested, and charged with robbery. At which point it emerged that this was not his first offence, and that he was wanted for a number of similar crimes, and had been in trouble with the law on many occasions in the past for burglary, fraud, GBH, ABH and a list as long as your arm of other offences. Not a pleasant character by all accounts. 

And now Felicity would be asked to step up in court and help put this unsavoury individual behind bars for a few years. It was a task that she was pleased to do, but also something that she felt slightly nervous about, even though she couldn’t really put her finger on the source of her anxiety. For despite assurances from the police that he couldn’t harm her now that he was in custody, the look in his eyes during that brief encounter was something that she simply couldn’t erase from her mind. It was a look of malice, anger and hatred that she couldn’t forget. But more than that, it seemed to Felicity that behind this belligerence there was a message. For she was certain that he had recognised her too, and that his deep staring eyes had been trying to warn her that if she grassed him up and testified against him, then he would be back seeking revenge at some point in the future. And this thought sent chills through her; so much so that, on more than one occasion since the incident, she’d seriously considered withdrawing her statement and claiming that she’d made a mistake, and that she was no longer certain of the robber’s identity. Each time she’d managed to convince herself that she was being stupid, and that there was nothing to fear. But even so, the feeling of unease was always there at the back of her mind, ready to erupt into her consciousness when she least expected it, and consequently causing a mini panic attack to break out whenever this occurred.

At least now, with the potential modelling assignment on the horizon, she had something of a less fraught nature to occupy her mind.

****

‘Solitude Studios’ weren’t exactly advertising themselves as open for business on the day of their modelling auditions. As a matter of fact, when Felicity turned up on the dot of eleven o’clock - her precise timing giving some indication of just how keen she was to impress - it took her several minutes, and saw her walking the length of the narrow thoroughfare that was Silent Street twice, before she could even locate the building in which the shoot was taking place. And even then, it was only by chance – or so she assumed at the time – that she came across the correct address. Having walked down from the Old Cattle Market on one side of the street, then back again from the junction with St Nicholas Street on the other, she was beginning to wonder whether the studio actually existed at all. Fortuitously, as she was almost back to her starting point, she noticed an old, unsigned door with badly peeling paint partially opening to her right. From behind this, a woman’s face appeared.

“Are you looking for ‘Solitude’?”

Slightly taken aback, Felicity shyly admitted that she was here for the audition, and brandished the flyer that she’d received through her door at the woman, as if to confirm the reason for her presence. The sight of the leaflet acted as a passport inside, it seemed, as immediately the door opened wide enough for her to enter the premises. As she was about to cross the threshold, Felicity peered upwards for a brief second at the stark exterior. No windows were in evidence above the ground floor. Instead several bricked up rectangular areas could be seen in the ancient building; evidence of the ‘Window Tax’ that had been introduced in the year 1696 and not repealed for 156 years thereafter, forcing owners to block up their windows to avoid the tax, and leading to the term ‘Daylight Robbery’ entering the language.

The interior proved no more inviting than the prospect from without, however. With the closing of the door behind her, Felicity found herself in an ill-lit corridor with closed doors on either side. But it wasn’t towards one of these rooms that she was now shepherded by her host, but straight ahead towards an equally under-illuminated flight of stairs, the summit of which was shrouded in darkness. As they began to climb, the woman - probably about the same age as herself, Felicity guessed - introduced herself and began to explain the nature of the assignment.

“My name’s Della and I’ll be running the auditions today. Please excuse the surroundings, as we’ve only just moved in and haven’t got around to sprucing the place up yet. I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with the less than salubrious facilities today, but the client that has commissioned this shoot is in a hurry, so we’ve had to improvise before we’re really ready.”

By the time she’d finished this speech, the pair had reached the landing, no less dark and uninviting than the downstairs corridor. There was, however, a light visible from an open door a few yards along the passageway, towards which Della led the way. As they reached this entrance, it occurred to Felicity that she hadn’t been asked to give any personal details herself; name, age, previous experience or anything of that nature. Sheepishly, she introduced herself.

“By the way, I’m Felicity.”

In the glare from the three spotlights that were now evident as the source of the illumination, the woman turned and smiled at her. It was the first opportunity that Felicity had really been given to study the woman’s features, and something about her suddenly sent a shiver up the wannabe model’s spine. For no warmth emanated from this attempt at friendliness, and the shadows cast by the lamps gave Della’s face – with its one quizzically raised eyebrow and what seemed like a knowing smirk - a sinister, almost evil look that seemed to convey the message that her visitor’s name was already well known to her. And this visage very nearly caused Felicity to turn on her heels and hightail back out the way she’d come in. Somehow, however, she managed to curb this urge to flee. It was just the dim, gloomy environment spooking her, she managed to convince herself. Everything would be fine. And besides, opportunities like this didn’t come along every day, and if she ran out now, she might forever regret it. And a second or two later, the woman was beckoning her to enter the makeshift studio, and Felicity found herself distracted from these momentary doubts, and duly did as instructed.

As had been evident from the outside, the room was windowless, and completely covering each wall, what looked like thick insulating panels had been fastened. The woman must have noticed Felicity gazing at these, for she was eager to explain the reason for this padding.

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