It arrived a week or so ago, but neither Captain nor I had managed to do anything about it due to not being in the same space at the same time. But it was there, and it had to be played with. A latex catsuit designed to look like a blow-up sex doll. It was love at first sight. I've never wanted to wear anything more in my entire life with the possible exception of certain costumes from Michael Manning's artwork. Except this was real. I think I clapped my hands together and did a little jig on the spot when he showed it to me. I emailed over a long list of precise body measurements, which was an interesting experiment in and of itself as I literally sized myself up. Then waited.
My instructions for the week preceding were simple: no body hair and short, smooth nails. Nothing to nick or tear the latex. We had a lot of plans. Some were exciting like being taken out to a club in the outfit; some were scary such as being fucked by anonymous, gumtree advertised strangers. The latter sent flutters through my stomach, genuinely frightened and excited by the prospect. The first time in a long while I'd had those feelings of stepping into something unknown and uncertain.
Come Friday and we were both feeling a little under the weather, but I needed kink much more than I needed a duvet - I had that ratty, coiled up internal pressure that comes from too much work and not enough play. There are times, frankly, when the only thing that will do is a gin and tonic followed by a good, hard kinky fuck. I know my needs. I'm starting to think that I know some of Captain's needs too, which is helping me unravel a bit more each time I see him. I like knowing that progress is being made. Neither of us were in a fit state for a full session, but equally there was no way that we were going to leave that plastic doll suit untouched.
I'd never worn a latex catsuit before, so was being talked through it by Captain whilst he went to put on his own. There was an air of jovial communal changing rooms as we sat, both naked save for a slick of lube, working our way into the outfits. The material was cool, floppy and thin. It looked a bit creepy, which was part of its charm. It was very soft and I was a little scared of tearing it as I slid my feet into the ends and pulled the pink plastic up my legs, trying to ease out the wrinkles. It took me quite a long time, by which point Captain was already silvery and shiny in his suit. He looked amazing, I've always loved men in tight fitting shiny outfits but this made me want to lick him all over, for the taste of the rubber, the sensation of the smooth plastic with the muscles underneath. I made a mental note to talk to Mr and Mrs Magpie about this and to update my list of "things to do" to include vast quantities of rubber and latex.
Eventually I was done. My hands were in mitten shapes, and my face encased in plastic. I had two little holes for my nose and a wide, red-rimmed O at my mouth and between my legs. I felt very warm and curiously protected. Captain helped me up and put me in front of a mirror. I was looking at something very pink, very strange and if it weren't for the fact that when I moved, the doll in the glass moved, I wouldn't be able to connect myself to my image. It was like looking at a photograph of someone else. Of something else. The tiny pinprick eyeholes added to the sense of dislocation - I could only see a limited field of view and needed to turn my head to see anything at my sides. My brain was already giddy and freewheeling, set loose from having to make any efforts at being me or being rational, it was like being high without any of the chemical sensation of having taken anything.
He stood behind me and reached around to grab my breasts, I could feel the warmth of his flesh then the tacky press of our rubber suits. I felt space-age. Futuristic sex doll. I loved it. I really fucking loved it. I felt made to wear this suit just as it was made for me. What surprised me the most was exactly how good it felt. I had thought that my pleasure in this outfit would be derived from the yearning of skin to skin contact but far from that I wanted this plastic against plastic. Second, perfected skin, with tight flesh enclosed beneath. I could still feel - the material was very thin - and what I felt was smooth, slick and fantastically sexual. The rubber was not erotic because it prevented my desire, but because it channelled it, instead of just one or two touches in the places where my lover's hands rest there were now many. Hundreds and thousands of stimuli. Every place the rubber touched my skin.
Being fucked in the outfit was spectacular. There was a very specific feeling to it, one which I've had before when mummified or similarly enclosed and it's something I especially want when I'm feeling out of sorts. The sensation of being used as an object is very powerful for me and in this instance there were lots of buttons being pushed all at once.
Partly because I really, really needed to be fucked but also because once in the doll outfit that was especially what needed to happen. It felt right. More than right, it felt as if not being fucked was an error, an omission. The doll was there to be used. I'm not entirely sure whether the sex felt better for us both being in latex, for the fact that I had been craving sex or because I was in a dollish frame of mind. Probably all three. But it was precisely what I needed. It wasn't about orgasm either (very little of my play actually is) instead the sensation of being full, of having those holes used. The best positions were those where he held me and I kept still, mouth open or hips spread. A vessel for his desire. Which was also mine, and each thrust pushed me deeper, until I was almost completely blank except for little flashes of how I must look, images kept appearing and disappearing around the immense blackness of hot, fulfilling sensation in which I was floating.
Abandoned to his fate in inescapable rope
3 months ago