Rubber Bdsm Stories

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Rubber Bdsm Stories
A toy for your entertainment and pleasure.
All parts of “Adventures In Rubber” are copyright 1989, William A. Lemieux. May be accessed by cybernetic media, PROVIDED no fee is charged or profit gained, AND THIS COPYRIGHT NOTICE REMAINS INTACT. Hardcopies are expressly forbidden without prior consent of the author. May not be published or distributed otherwise without written permission.
DISCLAIMER, DATCLAIMER, POLICY NOTICE AND DAMAGE WAIVER
Any similarity to actual persons, places, companies, products or institutions is unintentional and purely coincidental- honest. Note: this story may or may not include sex, bondage, discipline, and other alternative forms of sexual expression. If the presence or absence of a particular topic is likely to offend you, stop reading. This story describes acts which may not be safe to attempt in real life. Kids, don’t try this at home. Void where prohibited. Batteries not included. Wear a sweater. Criticism on writing technique and style are welcomed by e-mail. Flames will be cheerfully ignored.
-=O=-
Adventures In Rubber
by
Bill Lemieux
Chapter 1 of 18
Jason was getting frustrated. The embroidered jacket was chafing, the bar scotch he’d ordered was watery, and he was sweating in the rubber pants. What the hell he thought, I may as well enjoy my drinking, if I can’t enjoy the bloody party. He poured his drink into an abandoned margarita, and caught the bartender’s eye.
“Double shot of Macallan, neat,” he ordered.
The bartender, a bored-looking bodybuilder in a nun’s habit, said, “Top shelf is four bucks a shot,” waited for Jason’s reaction, and when he said nothing, turned to pour.
Jason had come to the Hallowe’en party alone, as a last resort, knowing full well he would most likely remain alone. He looked around the party, noting the many couples that had formed since the masquerade dance had begun. It looked like yet another lonely night in a year-long string of lonely nights. Things had looked promising earlier. Several attractive women had used his flashy costume as an excuse to start a conversation. But right on cue, his insecurity had caused him to stammer, to blurt meaningless and silly things, and one by one, they had disappeared into the crowd, later to be glimpsed hanging on the arm of another apparently more confident man or in some cases, woman. It was hard to tell with some of the costumes.
Shit, why couldn’t I have been born gay, or at least bisexual, he thought. At least there seemed to be a lot more fetishistic men there than women. His hopes rose again when a young woman in an outrageous blonde wig and 1920’s flapper dress walked up to him with two glasses of champaign. She looked like a gangster’s moll from a movie.
“Hoy they-uh,” she said, her impossibly Noo Yawk accent thick enough to cut with a knife.
He grinned. She had her character down pat.
“Hey, baby doll,” he said in his best imitation of a 1920’s gangster. She frowned slightly then brightened.
“Oi loik ya cawstume, where’d ja foind it?” she asked.
Once again, he tried to concentrate on what he would say. She was a knockout, and she seemed nice enough, if a bit empty-headed. He just had to get it right this time. For the seventeenth time tonight, he heard a friend’s advice in his mind. “Just be yourself. People can sense when you’re putting on an act.” Jason tried to relax. He dropped the “gangster” accent and smiled in what he hoped was a winning manner.
“Well, I rented the jacket, hat and shoes, but I already had the rubber pants. Where did you find that outrageous wig?”
Ten seconds later, he stood morosely wiping Champaign from his rubber pants, amazed to discover that not only had her accent been real, but the wig was not a wig, and her head was as empty as her glass was now. She was not The Woman.
“The Woman” was a sort of fantasy he’d entertained since puberty. He sat down at the cash bar, and thought back to his high school days, to his first and only great love.
When he was about sixteen, and noticing girls in a big way, he’d made a pass at the most attractive girl in school, a read-head named Mandy. This was a bold step for him, since he’d always had trouble talking to girls. That was more than usually unfortunate, because his swim-team body and rakish good looks tended to attract quite a few potential dates and even bed-mates.
The problem was that Jason Stewart was not just a jock. He was smart, and he knew it, and he just couldn’t relate to 99% of the girls (not to mention boys) at school, despite the urging of his percolating hormones. To be sure, there were a few smart girls at his school, but they weren’t his idea of a good time. Not only were most of them emotionally crippled, but they dressed like bag-ladies, and their personal grooming habits would have shamed a wino.
There appeared to be no girls his age that had looks as well as good taste and intelligence in the entire city. To make matters worse, his social skills seemed somehow lacking when dealing with girls- they seemed to him almost an alien race, with quite different needs and goals than he. Due to an early divorce, Jason had grown up without a father, and somehow his mother had never graced him with any dating skills. After two years of unsuccessful attempts at conversation with empty-headed Madonnawannabes, and a few aborted dates, he overheard a conversation between his chemistry teacher and Mandy Rafool.
She was discussing the relationship between what she had learned in physics class to the current discussion of valences in chemistry. He would never have imagined! He had seen her around for quite awhile and just like every other guy in school, had been fascinated with her pretty face, the tight jeans and sweaters which she constantly wore, and her stunningly mature body. And, like every other guy in school, he had noticed that she was conspicuously without a boyfriend.
But because of her stunning good looks and the retinue of bimbettes which constantly attended her,. he’d assumed that she was yet another bimbo herself. She was two years older than he, a senior, a cheerleader, and she looked to him like a daddy’s-little-girl who never lacked for anything. Never the less, he had fallen hard, and he resolved to win her heart. For the next six months, he secretly bought all the magazines the girls at school seemed to worship, and he studied.
In Seventeen, he learned how a “real cool dude” walked, talked, and dressed. In Young Model, he read about the things every teenage girl supposedly wanted in a boyfriend. In Cosmo, he discovered what sort of sex “every” sophisticated, mature woman wanted. And, finally, after screwing his courage to the sticking point, he’d asked her for a date. She accepted!
Actually, when he first spoke to her she’d laughed and walked off with her friends, but then right after school, he had found her sitting on the hood of his car. She told him she was sorry, that she’d actually thought him cute when they first met, but his inept approach had “forced” her to rebuke him, lest her girlfriends think her “easy”. Considering how she dominated her peer group, he thought it more likely that she only feared a loss of control, but he didn’t dare risk such a rebuke. He was in love… or lust, which was about the same to him at that age.
“Well, aren’t you going to drive me home?” she had demanded.
At last, he had thought to himself, a girl who takes the lead.
As they talked, sitting in his car in front of her house, he discovered with delight and a certain relief that she did have a brain after all. The vast majority of the attractive girls, at least, seemed to believe that brains and education were anathema to becoming a model, which seemed to be the first and foremost desire of every one of them except Mandy. She told him she was getting straight A’s except in Home Economics, which she loathed, and that she had already decided to become an investment broker!
He asked her why she had no boyfriends, why she had picked him. Her reply astonished, then warmed him. It seemed that she too, was turned off by empty-headed football jocks suffering from what she called testosterone poisoning. She seemed surprised and delighted that he was both an athlete and a straight-A student. Then she shocked him by revealing that she had not only dated a few of those football jocks, had had sex with several, and found them to be boring, self-centered lovers.
At his stunned look she added, “Oh, don’t look so shocked. There’s nothing wrong with having sex at our age, although you could never prove it by those immature fools I run with. I’m not stupid, I use condoms, I play it safe. Besides, I’ve seen the way you look at my body, you know damn well you’d give your left arm to get into my pants…” here she reached over and squeezed his crotch, nearly causing a minor traffic accident, “…and who knows, maybe you will, if you’re good to me.”
By this time, Jason’s brain was yelling, “DANGER, DANGER, Dr. Smith! Cockteaser ahead!” but he suppressed its voice easily and told himself she really meant it- she was just a very bossy girl…er, woman, he corrected himself. She turned out to be a rather forceful lass indeed. Fortunately for Jason’s grades, she shared no classes with him, but when they passed in the halls, she surreptitiously blew him kisses, or licked her lips lasciviously when no-one was looking. She insisted on meeting him after school every day, and that he drive her home.
He lived for those drives, as they talked about their passtimes and interests, the other kids at school, and all too often, about sex. She seemed quite knowledgable on that subject, and astonished him with her frank, technical descriptions of what seemed to him bizarre yet tantalizing acts.
Finally, on Friday, she informed him that he would pick her up at seven that night to go to Angelo’s for dinner. Angelo’s was a restaurant / nightclub, rather pricey for kids their age, but his part time job at Radio Shack had allowed him to save a tidy bundle. He felt a certain amount of pride at being able to wine and dine the sexiest girl in school. It was rather a relief actually, not having to worry how to persuade her to go on a date with him. All she required of him was a “yes”.
When he picked her up, he discovered that she challenged the conventions of fashion as well. He arrived at her house early and after waiting nervously on the porch for several minutes, he rang the bell precisely at seven o’clock. She opened the door within seconds, and breezed right past him toward the car. He could only stare after her in shock. When she realized he wasn’t following she turned, staring back at him with her hands on her hips, looking at him silently as if to say, `Well, aren’t you coming?’ He continued to stare for a moment, than slowly walked up to her, his expression of slack-jawed astonishment slowly turning to one of frank admiration as he boldly looked her up and down. The temperature of the warm June night suddenly rose several degrees.
The voice at his shoulder snapped Jason back to the present. A huge woman, correction, a transvestite, in a tight red flamenco dress, was standing next to him.
“Umm, no thanks. I mean, no offense, but your eyes are the wrong color, if you take my meaning.”
The flamenco dancer pouted and flounced away. Jason sipped his scotch, closed his eyes and thought back to that first, incredible date. For their trip to the club, she wore a shiny rubber miniskirt in an outrageous shade of hot pink that fit her as if spray-painted on. If that wasn’t enough, she had topped it with a tight-fitting jacket of white patent leather, accompanied by fishnet stockings and pink patent spike heels. She wore no blouse under the jacket, and if she wore a bra, it must have been quite low-cut, as her burgeoning cleavage was plainly displayed in the neckline. His first reaction was that she looked like one of the hookers on Main Street, or a heroine from a B-grade movie, although unarguably sexy!
“My god Mandy,” he said, “you look delectable!”
“Yes, I know. I take it then that you share my tastes.”
She even sounds like a B-grade movie, he thought. He convinced his eyes to stop devouring her body for a moment, to meet her gaze.
“Mandy, I LOVE the way you look…it’s just that… I guess it’s a bit of a shock. At school, you never wear anything more provocative than a tight sweater…do you dress this way every time you go out? Don’t you get a lot of flack from your parents?” He realized he was gushing and shut up, coloring slightly.
She smiled wryly at him and ticked off her reply on her fingers.
“First: I dress the way I dress at school in order to identify with those little idiots who follow me around like puppy dogs. I give them something to look up to, they give me a certain cachet of respectability, helping me to get on the cheerleading team, the school newspaper, the yearbook staff, student council, and so on. That stuff looks great to college scouts, after they finish tallying your test scores, of course. And second: no, I don’t always dress this way when I go out, only when I want to reduce my date to a drooling blob of lust.” She grinned mischievously.
“It’s working, believe me,” stammered Jason.
“…third,” Mandy interrupted, “no, my parents don’t mind much at all- you should see some of the things THEY wear. And fourth, are we going to dinner, or not?”
During the meal, while his head was reeling from her fantastically clothed figure, her slightly musky cologne, and two glasses of wine, she whispered to him in no uncertain terms what she expected of him later. Jason was in pubescent heaven. His erection had not subsided since she’d opened her front door, and she certainly wasn’t helping with her thoroughly lurid account of the things she wanted to do to him.
If she weren’t so straightforward and bossy, he thought, I’d think she was the biggest tease of all time. By the time dessert had arrived, she had removed a shoe, and was massaging his uncomfortable bulge with her toes, the concealing tablecloth keeping their secret. When she put her shoe back on and began squeezing his crotch between both heels, he thought he would explode. He didn’t want to cream in his pants, but he didn’t want to make a scene, either. The whole time, Mandy kept up a stream of innocuous conversation that for Jason, became increasingly difficult to follow.
When they got to the car, she leaned back against the hood, inviting him into her arms. For a few seconds, Jason hugged her gently, as if afraid she would break. He kissed her hesitantly, just before they both threw decorum to the wind, each grabbing the other fiercely, smothering each other with their mouths, their tongues. Jason squeezed her ass and pulled her tightly to him, marvelling at the unusual feeling of the smooth, pliant latex covering her muscular cheeks. Mandy responded by pushing her hand down his pants. Jason felt her hand around his erect shaft, and suddenly knew that they would not be getting home at the hour he’d promised his mother. He drew his head back, looked her in the eyes.
“I think we’d better take this somewhere else,” he husked
Mandy had him drive to the outskirts of town to an abandoned farmhouse she knew about from some previous amorous adventure. The entire way, she was melted against him, rubbing his skin with her hands, and distracting him from driving in general. Soon she had opened his fly, and had scooped everything out. Jason tried to think of something to say, but was overcome by the unique sensation of someone else handling his cock, softly squeezing his balls. He tried to concentrate on the road, but when she pulled him into her mouth, he almost drove off the road for the second time that week.
“Ah! Ahhh” was all the conversation he could manage.
“Relax,” she said, releasing his cock for a moment, “you drive the car, and I’ll drive you.”
Again she bent to her task. During a moment’s clear thought, he realized she was quite good at it. Every time he felt ready to come off, she either slowed down or stopped altogether, moving her attention and tongue to his balls, or neck, or earlobes. Only once did she come up for air, to give directions. When they finally arrived, Jason pulled out a large blanket his mother kept in the trunk `for road emergencies’. He’d decided that this was a road emergency.
In seconds, Mandy had him down on the blanket on his back, her legs astride his hips, and her hands pressing his shoulders into the soft earth.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” she asked softly, smiling gently down at him in the pale moonlight. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn’t break her gaze.
“Umm, yeah,” he answered sheepishly. Softly, she stroked his face.
“Heyy…. heyyy,” she cooed, “it’s alright! Everyone’s a virgin some time in their life. You just sit back and enjoy the ride. If you feel like doing something, say so, or just do what comes naturally. Now then…”
She squirmed backwards enough to get at his belt and stood suddenly, unceremoniously yanking off his pants.
“There! Now we’re getting somewhere,” she exclaimed, grabbing at his underwear.
When she had him totally nude he protested, “Hey, wait a minute, I’m not wearing a stitch, and you’re still dressed! That’s hardly fair.”
Mandy stood astride his chest, looking down at him and feigning a hurt expression.
“Don’t you LIKE the way I’m dressed?”
She ran her hands over the thin shiny patent leather covering her breasts, turned to face his feet, giving him an excellent view as she carressed her latex-covered derrier.
“And besides,” she added, bending to look at him between her knees as she positioned herself above his head, “I’m not wearing any panties.”
So saying, she knelt astride his chest, pinning his upper arms under her shins, and squatting directly over his face.
Chapter 2 of 18
Jason had actually dreaded this moment. Although a virgin, he was by no means ignorant- through his reading and by the coarse jokes and bragging told in the swimming team locker room, he had surmised that cunnilingus was a distasteful and unpleasant experience. All that changed in the next thirty seconds. As she gracefully lowered herself onto his face, she began stroking his erect cock, occasionally leaning forward to tongue and partially suck on him. He was eager to return the favor. He sniffed cautiously. A melange of scent surprised his nose. The smell of the latex miniskirt, now hiked up around her hips, was reminiscent more of certain pipe tobaccos than the smelly innertubes with which he was more familiar. This was mixed with a new smell, musky and rich, not unpleasant, but… strange, with a hint of some musky cologne. He suspected she had scented herself here as well.
Encouraged, he reached out with his tongue, exploring the pink folds hidden in the hair. She tasted much the same as she smelled- he decided that the boys on the swim team were either crazy or liars, because he was already beginning to like it. As his tongue made it’s first tentative entry into her hungry sex, Mandy moaned, backed up into his face, and bent further to take him completely into her mouth. Jason bucked his mouth and tongue against her and into her, having only a fleeting instant to think- `I’m doing it! At last, I’m actually doing 69 with the finest girl in school!’ before the rising heat in his groin became a pulsing fire that swept through his mind, leaving behind only peace and a growing feeling of… something significant.
“Hey buddy, if you’re not gonna drink, how about letting someone else use that stool, huh?”
Jason awoke from his reverie with a start , realizing his daydream had become that lucid, remembering, sort of sleep-dream. He looked up at the hard hat that had spoken, realizing that the deep voice belonged to a huge, muscular woman dressed as a construction worker. She had one meaty fist clamped around the wrist of a fierce-looking smaller woman sporting a green mohawk, the other around a huge can of Foste
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