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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen Becker o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
The Accident
by Bill Lemieux
Date: Oct 1997
All parts of "The Accident" are (c) 1994, William A. Lemieux. May
be freely distributed by cybernetic media, provided no fee is
charged or profit gained.
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 1
February 12th
Dear Diary,
It's been a long time since I've written anything in your pages, but
I feel like I have to talk about this, and you're the only one I can tell.
I have a feeling this will be a very long entry.
I have only myself to blame, I suppose. Jurgen told me not to touch
anything, and even if he hadn't, common sense should have told me not to
meddle with things I don't understand. Or for that matter, things that
even Jurgen doesn't fully understand. Now I'm in a real fix.
it's funny though. Now that I've gotten used to it, I'm not even sure
I want out of this "fix". But I'm probably not making much sense. Let me
start over at the beginning.
A little less than six months ago, Jurgen told me he had made a
breakthrough at the lab. I went out with him on the weekend, and he
showed me what he'd been working on. It had something to do with altering
the molecular structure of materials with directed energy instead of
chemistry. I understood the intention, but not the principles behind the
equipment. I mean, I'm fairly smart, I have a masters degree in
anthropology, but I know when I'm out of my depth.
As Jurgen explained it, the machine bathed the test item in low level
microwaves while scanning a low powered x-ray laser across it at high
speed. They had discovered all sorts of bizarre effects on various
materials, using various frequencies of microwaves, but the effects were
unpredictable, and they hadn't figured out how to control them yet. I
was impressed though, and I told him so. We left later, went off to the
art museum, I think. If only I had known then how his work would affect
my life!
The next part of the story came just last week. I had been in the
kitchen making myself a little snack. There was no point making dinner,
since Jurgen wouldn't be home until late. He was obsessively pursuing
some new development at the lab, and I knew he would probably ruin his
appetite with junk food out of the vending machines.
The doorbell rang, and with a suddenly racing heart, I KNEW what it had
to be. When I saw the heavy-looking parcel in the arms of the delivery
man, my hopes were answered.
I have written here many times about the joy Jurgen and I get from our
bondage games and fetishes. But I've never written down the details
before. Why am I embarrassed? It's not as if anyone will ever read these
words. Okay... a couple we know runs a company that specializes in
elaborate and beautifully made restrictive rubber and leather clothing,
and Jurgen had ordered a custom made latex bondage suit from them.
Somehow, without even looking at the shipping label, I knew it was finally
here!
I signed for the parcel, and practically ran into the kitchen with it.
With trembling hands, I tore open the carton. We had ordered the suit
over two months ago, and I had been day-dreaming about it nearly every day
since. I dumped the contents onto the table, rustling folds of purple
rubber spilling out in a heap. As the familiar aroma of latex filled the
room, I marvelled at the almost overpowering effect it had on me. After
years of playing all manner of fetish and bondage games with Jurgen, I have
come to associate that smell with sexual pleasure, such that now the odor
alone arouses me.
I laid it out on the table, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into
it. It was a full body suit of heavy gauge latex in a deep purple. There
was no zipper, since the suit was made for neck entry only. One of our
favorite games was to dump lubricant inside a water-tight catsuit so that
it would slip and slide around my body as I moved. A zipper would have
allowed leaks, making a mess.
The attached boots had six inch heels, and while they weren't exactly
ballet toes, they were half an inch higher than any other heels I owned.
Walking in them would be challenging, but not impossible. I'm going
into a lot of detail, aren't I? Well, despite what has happened, I still
love the suit, and it has given me such pleasure, that I think a certain
fetishistic lingering over the intimate details of the outfit are called
for.
Jurgen had had a devilish idea for the bust. There were fitted breast
cups of course, but they were made from thinner latex, and sat over
slightly smaller holes in the chest of the suit. The outer cups had
little bumps inside, to rub against my nipples. My breasts would be
squeezed through the holes in the heavy rubber of the suit, holding them
out and up, and they would bulge out like two round melons, stretching
the cups, the tight fit and little bumps making me acutely aware of my
nipples at all times.
There were gloves molded onto the sleeves, and quite a few heavy "D"
rings attached with reinforcing straps at strategic places. The crotch
area was fitted with some very nice accessories as well, but my favorite
feature was the corset section.
Made with two layers of rubber laminated with canvas and closely spaced
steel boning, it was an integral part of the suit. There was no busk of
course, and the back laces were attached to reinforced flaps on the
outside, with another flap that could be closed and locked over them,
securing the suit on the wearer. I remember insisting that Jurgen size
it the same as my smallest dress corset. He had suggested a more relaxed
fit, since he planned to lock me into it for a weekend, but had given in
after I described in lurid detail how sexy I would look wearing it. I
recall that our love making the night we mailed the order was especially
intense.
We had ordered a custom helmet with it, but it was not attached, since
my husband wanted to be able to use different hoods with the suit, or even
take me out on the town wearing the outfit under my street clothes. The
hood was made with a wide stiffened flange that would make it secure once
the neck of the suit had closed over it. The eyes were covered with
smoked acrylic lenses, so I would be able to see, but dimly. The mouth
was open, but could be closed with any one of several plugs, gags, and so
on, all of which snapped into a ridge surrounding the opening.
I thought of how much the new suit would would excite him, and was immediately
struck by a mischievous idea. He had to work late at the lab, but nothing
stopped me from paying him a visit. I was pleased that his work had been
making so much progress, but we had had less time together as a result,
and it had been weeks since we had done anything more than plain vanilla
sex. I knew he wouldn't leave work until he was exhausted, but I was sure
he wouldn't mind a brief distraction if I stopped by wearing this! And if
I waited until later that night, the place would be deserted. They only
had a handful of employees anyway, and generally, my little genius was the
the only one willing to work late.
Once my mind was made up, I sprang into action, as they say in the cheap
adventure novels. I carried the heavy suit up to our play room, then took
a long hot shower, paying a little extra attention to my piercings, since
they would be abused somewhat by the tight suit as well as being steeped
in sweat for several hours.
I dried off as fast as I could- I was eager to feel the new outfit
enclosing me in it's intimate embrace. At least I didn't have to dry my
hair. I'm not sure whether I've mentioned this before... I have been
completely depilated for nearly as long as we have been married, so it
didn't take long for me to get dry. It's fortunate that Jurgen is well
paid for his work. I had told him very early on that while I was willing
to give up my hair for him, I refused to shave from head to toe every day.
The electrolysis of my head, armpits, and other areas had taken over a
year and had cost a fortune!
I grabbed the silicone lubricant from the bedroom and headed for the play
room. Silicone is the best thing we have found for lubricating rubber,
since it didn't dry out or pool in the feet. I knew I'd need it, since
the suit had been designed for a very tight fit.
Before I started, I debated briefly about what to put in the crotch.
The suit had two large holes there, with thick molded collars. They
could be left open, or any of a host of custom accessories could be
snapped into place, making a watertight seal. A moments reflection told
me that Jurgen wouldn't be likely to want to make love right there in the
lab. I opted for a pair of thin sheaths, into which I pressed two of my
most prized toys: a pair of large soft rubber phalluses, each of which has
a steel capsule inside, partly filled with mercury. I didn't want to use
vibrators because while they might be exciting at first, I'd be numb after
an hour or so. These plugs on the other hand, would wiggle and vibrate
only when I moved.
After installing the sleeves and the plugs inside the suit, I slathered
the thick, oily silicone all over the inside, and then spread a thin
film over myself as well. Wouldn't want to chafe, I told myself,
suppressing a giggle.
Getting the suit on without help was a challenge. If the rubber had been
any thicker, I would never have gotten my feet into the boots. The neck
was reinforced, but even so, I worried that it might tear as I struggled
to pull it over my hips and get my arms and shoulders into it. I'm a big
girl, not overweight, in fact a little too slender Jurgen used to tell me,
but I have an ample bosom and a prominent, muscular derrier, so I had to
work to get the neck over them. I had to force my breasts through the
holes by hand. The feeling as they plopped through and my nipple rings
hit the inside of the cups was exquisite.
Finally, as the collar opening shrank against my neck, the plugs slid
into me suddenly and I gasped at being stuffed so full without warning.
I held onto the mirror for balance as a little wave of warmth swept
through me. I wondered for a moment whether the plugs I had chosen might
be a little too large, but then threw caution to the wind. I might not
talk Jurgen into sex at the lab, but I was definitely going to enjoy this
night!
Now that I was fully dressed, I indulged in a moment of narcissism,
standing before the dressing mirror to admire myself. The fit was
perfect! I couldn't have asked for better. Even the fingers of the
gloves fit snugly and without a wrinkle, which is unusual.
I took a few tentative steps and found that I could walk without breaking
my neck, but I'd have to go slowly at first. While these heels were only
a little higher than the ones I wore almost every day, the effect on my
balance was significant. It would take time before I could walk in them
as easily as my regular shoes.
For a moment, I forgot about my mission, revelling in the tight feeling
of the second skin that encased me. I admit I got a little carried away
and I found myself digging my fingers into my crotch, kneading my breasts.
I was thoroughly turned on before I caught myself. With a struggle, I
made myself stop, telling myself to save it for Jurgen.
I turned my attention to the corset. Lacing it was easier than it would
sound. I think I have mentioned before that Jurgen built me a "lacing
machine" after I complained that I couldn't lace myself into any of my
corsets without his help. He's such a little inventor! Perhaps I should
describe it. It's just two little winches, mounted on opposite walls of
the play room and hooked up to a remote control. I just put one hook
through each lace, thumb the button, and they pull in opposite directions.
The only hard part is that I have to back off the winches, unhoook the
laces, and do the final tightening and knot-tying myself.
I watched in the mirror across the room as the machine slowly drew the
corset closed. I never grow tired of watching this fascinating process.
What woman WOULDN'T love to see her waist gradually shrinking before her
eyes? As the pressure on my abdomen built, I couldn't help wiggling a
little. The dildos filling me front and rear responded, and I gasped.
I already knew I would have to take it in steps. This corset was TIGHT!
Even though I tight-lace on a daily basis, I had to stop several times to
rest and allow my poor torso to adjust.
After about half an hour, I finally had the laces closed, knotted, and
concealed beneath the locking cover. After only a few minutes, my abdomen
became adjusted and stopped hurting, although it was still slightly
uncomfortable. I would never have got it closed if I hadn't already been
tight-lacing for years. And tight? I was held rigidly erect. The rigid
embrace of this garment felt even more like a sort of portable bondage-
one of the reasons I got into corsetting in the first place. Between the
compression of my waist and the plugs down below, I was really getting
turned on. At least I'd be in prime condition for Jurgen! On a lark, I
decided to leave the key to the lock on the dresser when I left.
The only thing left now was the hood.
Diary, you already know how I feel about hoods. The sensation of having
my hearing reduced, of the tight latex clinging around my head, is
delightful. Most of the ones Jurgen has bought for me have gags fitted,
and well... you know how I love having my mouth filled, too.
I decided to use the breathe-through inflatable gag tonight. It took
effort to snap it into place, and I discovered it was impossible to spit
out without removing it from the hood. The hood was made of the same
thick purple rubber as the suit, so I lubricated it too, then spread more
goo on my bare scalp. With only a slight struggle, I pulled the thick
helmet on, and it slid into place with a wet sucking sound. It was no
trouble to get the nostril tubes in my nose so I could breath freely.
It took a little more work to get the wide collar of the helmet tucked
into and under the collar of the suit, but I did it. All of this was
rather tiring, and I knew I'd probably need my husband's help to get out
of the outfit. I fitted the pump to the mouthpiece, and pumped it,
feeling the limp bladder within my mouth suddenly swell, gradually
filling my cheeks, forcing my jaw apart, and making speech impossible.
When my mouth was nicely full, I removed the pump from the tiny valve
and screwed the little plug in. Looking in the mirror, it was difficult
to tell that there was anything between the shiny molded lips of the mask.
I left the pump on the dresser too. Jurgen has always liked me gagged,
and I figured that if he wanted to talk to me when I got there, he could
always improvise something to release the pressure- he's handy that way.
In the meantime, I wanted to feel helpless, trapped.
Okay, I was dressed. The only remaining task was to wipe off the
dribbles of lubricant and apply a liberal amount of polish to the suit.
That took only moments, and when I was done, I hesitated. I have never
done anything quite this daring before. Suppose I was stopped by a police
officer? I'm embarrassed to say that the idea of being helplessly
incommunicado before a uniformed officer sent a sudden throb though me.
I suppressed a shudder, and buried my fears.
Before I left, I took a last look in the mirror, admiring the deep color
and brilliant shine of the suit. My breasts jutted out improbably high
and firm, the corset held me brutally erect, while my now tiny waist (not
to mention the back curve of the corset) emphasized my bust and buttocks
even further. The skyscraper heels and the unbroken line of the boots
showed off my legs to great advantage.
Not bad for thirty-four, I told myself. I strutted carefully to the
stairs, and began picking my way carefully down to the front hall. That
took longer than it should have, because the bouncing motions I made were
repeated and amplified by those darned dildos inside me, and I had to stop
several times for deep breathing and clenching teeth. Eventually, I made
my way into the hall, found the car keys, and headed off for the lab and
my poor unsuspecting husband.
...continued in Part II
Path:
usenet.ucs.indiana.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!spool.mu.edu!mnemos
yne.cs.du.edu!nyx10.cs.du.edu!not-for-mail
From: blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Gomez)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.fetish.fashion,alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story: The Accident, part 2 (mf,fetish,bondage)
Date: 19 Dec 1994 21:42:12 -0700
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
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Message-ID: <3d5nb4$jej@nyx10.cs.du.edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: nyx10.cs.du.edu
Xref: usenet.ucs.indiana.edu alt.sex.bondage:7778 alt.sex.fetish.fashion:409
alt.sex.stories:6224
All parts of "The Accident" are (c) 1994,
William A. Lemieux. May be freely distributed by cybernetic
media, provided no fee is charged or profit gained. Hardcopies are
expressly forbidden without prior consent of the author. May not be
published or distributed otherwise without permission.
....... DISCLAIMER, DATCLAIMER, POLICY NOTICE AND DAMAGE WAIVER .........
. .
. While I appreciate the implied (and explicit) compliments, I simply .
. don't have time to accommodate requests for copies, chapters, etc. .
. .
. Any similarity between story characters and actual persons is .
. unintentional and purely coincidental... honest. The same goes for .
. any company names you might THINK you've seen before- pure chance. .
. After all, I would never stoop so low as to shamelessly plug a vendor .
. that I thought was particularly worthy, such as BR Creations, The .
. Stockroom, Remawear, or DeMask- no, that would never do. .
. .
. 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. .
. Criticism on technique (what little there is) and writing style are .
. welcomed by e-mail. Flames will be cheerfully ignored. .
. .
............................. cut here ..................................
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 2
February 13th
Dear Diary,
I got tired of writing last night. Here is the rest of the story of
how I was... reborn, I guess you could say, as a new sex toy for my
husband. I think it's getting easier to write about all this, since I
seem to be getting a bit more glib, and taking the whole thing a little
less seriously than I used to.
When I got outside, I was suddenly blind. I had forgotten one important
fact about the night time. It's dark at night, dummy! The smoked lenses
in the helmet kept me from seeing anything except the lamp posts glowing
on either side of the driveway. I stood there in bewildered frustration
for quite a while, until I realized my eyes were gradually adjusting to
the dark. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a quarter
of that, I could not only see well enough to strut my way to the car, but
I felt confident that with the headlights on, I'd be able to drive
safely. (Fortunately, I turned out to be right.)
Walking to the car was an adventure, as the mercury filled plugs inside
me wiggled and squirmed again, practically driving me to climax before I
even got into the car. But if I thought that was bad, the trip to the lab
was even worse, or better, depending on how you look at it. Ever since we
moved out to the country to be closer to the lab, I have asked Jurgen
repeatedly to have the road graded, since the bumps and pot-holes make me
crazy whenever I have anything like Ben Wa balls or these dildos inside
me. And that night wasn't the first time for that. My dear husband
delights in equipping me in all sorts of garments and toys that he knows
will keep me nearly mad with desire, and then driving into town for dinner
at some fancy restaurant. So far, he has refused to have our road graded,
the rascal. I think he takes sadistic pleasure in seeing me incoherent
with arousal and sometimes even public orgasms. I both hate and adore
those outings. But I'm getting sidetracked again.
This time I was driving, and it wasn't easy concentrating on the road.
Just as I was deciding that I wasn't going to make it there alive, I came
to the end of the driveway. The paved road that goes past the lab was
much easier to take, with only the occasional sharp turn to distract my
innards, and I made the rest of the trip without mishap.
I drove through the open gate, wondering briefly whether they did any
secret work here. There certainly wasn't any security in evidence.
As I approached the main building where my husband's lab was, I saw more
than one lighted office, and I hoped that he really was alone. I wasn't
really ashamed of how I was dressed, but I knew that it would cause Jurgen
a great deal of embarrassment if we were discovered by his coworkers.
I found him in a brightly lit room filled with the equipment he had so
proudly demonstrated only a few months ago. He looked up with an
irritated look at the sound of my boots clicking on the tiles, but that
look instantly changed to one of surprise and delight as he took in the
sight of my tightly corsetted, booted, helmeted, and shining form.
"Good God! Diana! What are you doing here?" He stood up from the
instruments he had been staring at and looked me slowly up and down. He
whistled.
I basked in his lusty gaze, and would have smiled inside the mask, if
my mouth hadn't been stuffed full of rubber.
"So, the suit came, and you just couldn't wait to show it off, eh?" he
asked. I nodded. He held out his arms to me. I stalked over to him
slowly, faltering only once on the towering stilettos.
"God, I could look at you for days," he said, running his hands over
my tightly corsetted torso, my hips, my bulging breasts.
"It fits beautifully," he added, "Jeanne and William do wonderful work,
don't they?"
I nodded vigorously in agreement.
"And you are gagged, I suppose?" he asked. He caressed my swollen
cheeks, licked his lips. He knew how aroused I had to be inside my
rubber and steel prison.
I nodded again, and moaned, partly for his benefit, and partly because
I needed to.
He felt between my legs. "And what do you have down here? Ah, the
sheaths... but there's something inside... your fancy dildos?"
I nodded.
"The mercury filled ones?" I nodded again.
He wiggled his hand vigorously, briefly, eliciting another heartfelt moan
from me.
"Jesus," he said, "How am I going to get any work done now? You look
just fabulous, as always, but... good lord, this outfit is incredible. I
can't wait to get you home!"
A wistful look came into his eyes.
"But damn! I can't go home yet, I just can't! I promised the financial
people a demonstration in the morning, and I'm still having some problems.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn."
He continued to stare at me though, as if I were some fetishistic angel
that might disappear at any moment.
I piroutted before him, showing him every angle, knowing I looked hot,
fully aware of the effect I was having on him, and loving it. And I knew
that while a skin-tight outfit of patent leather or latex was his biggest
turn-on, the fact that it was ME inside was what drove his lust over the
edge. He might be the dominant in our relationship, but I can still
manipulate him until he is weak in the knees.
His hands were around my waist, his fingers fumbling at the back lacing.
"Ah, you've locked the corset on? Where is the key?"
"Mm-hmm" I said around the gag. I pointed over my shoulder for emphasis.
"In the car?"
I shook my head.
"At home."
I nodded.
He grinned.
"Damn. You just wait until I get you home! I am going to put you
through your paces like never before! I wish I could take you home right
now! But hon, I'm really sorry, but I CAN'T leave yet. Not until I've
got this bug worked out. You understand, don't you?"
I made soft mewling sounds, and squirmed my hips. The dildos wiggled
inside me and an aroused moan got added on involuntarily.
"Ah, hmmm," he said then. "Well, I suppose a _short_ break wouldn't
hurt. In fact, I ought to just take you right here. You know, I don't
have to undress you..."
I could see his libido doing battle with his desire to fix his technical
problem, whatever it was, by morning.
"Mmm?" I said softly, leaning into him and pressing my breasts into his
chest. Like most men, he has a thing for tits. It was all the
encouragement he needed.
"Okay, that's it! Come on." He turned me round, pinned my arms behind
my back (to my delight) and marched me out the door, down the hall, and
into his office. He closed and locked the door and swept his desk clean,
papers and books flying in all directions.
"Bend over," he commanded, his voice husky with desire. I grinned inside
my mask. He was really out of control. It was a good thing that I had
let him talk me out of a longer corset section, otherwise I wouldn't have
been able to comply. With this design, while my torso was quite rigid, I
could at least bend at the hips. I bent over the desk.
"Spread," he said, placing his hand on my back and bearing down. I
spread my legs wide, having a little trouble as my heels tried to dig into
the carpet. I got them free, and my chest and hips thumped down against
the desk top. I gasped as the blow on my tit rings sent a jolt of pain
mixed with pleasure through my chest. Between the trip here with those
plugs rattling inside me and the treatment I was getting now, I wasn't
just ready, I was on fire with need.
I felt an indication of my readiness dribble slowly down my leg, trapped
under the rubber.
He fumbled in my crotch, and soon had the caps off, and with a bit more
work, he got the dildos out. There was no way he would be able to remove
the sleeves from the outside, but that didn't seem to bother him. He
stuck his hand down the neck of the suit, and pulled it back coated with
slime. He lubed up the inside of the sleeves, pressing one finger, then
two, inside me. I heard faint rustlings through the hood, (he had pulled
off his lab coat), a thud, (he had dropped his trousers), and then I gasped
as a soft but insistent heat pressed into me, filling me to capacity.
I have often wondered whether I might have married Jurgen just for his
cock. He could never be mistaken for a porn star with his wiry, almost
scrawny build, but he was certainly well endowed in the manhood
department, not too large, but just right as far as I was concerned. And
to the sex authors who insist that size doesn't matter, I say phooey! A
big penis may not be critical, but it certainly is a nice bonus if the
owner knows how to use it. And after our years of practice, my darling
certainly does! He's also adept at using his hands and his mouth to send
me into orbit. He told me once he had read up on sex before we got
married. Whatever.
He rammed that magnificent rod of his into me in one stroke, knowing I
was as ready as I would ever be. I nearly fainted from the pressure and
sensation that shot out from my pelvis. There on his desk, me a picture
out of any fetishists wet dream, him looking like the "Nerd" posters you
used to see in joke shops, he took me with a wild abandon, pounded me
mercilessly, as he hadn't done in months. It was a short trip for both
of us, due in large part to the suit, no doubt, my appearance driving
him crazy with desire, and the sensations induced by the outfit doing the
same thing to me. We came within ten seconds of each other, and his seed
was so hot, and there was so much of it, I could feel it even through the
latex sheath inside me. I screamed against the desk, my cries muffled by
the hood and gag. I was still coming hard even as he slowed his strokes,
his own spasms growing less urgent. I resolved right then and there to
wear this suit at every opportunity.
If only I had known...
Afterwards, I stood against the wall, because it was more comfortable
than sitting down, and he sat on the edge of the desk, both of us sipping
Cokes from the machine down the hall. It's our little post-copulatory
ritual, since neither of us smokes. Sometimes we drive immediately into
town for ice cream. There are few things better after sex than ice cream.
I worked my jaw, still a little bit sore after having the pump gag
removed. Pump gags never bother me when I have them in, it's afterwards
that my jaw hurts.
"You know I'm going to have to get back to work soon," he said quietly.
He examined his pop can carefully, not wanting to look me in the eye.
I nodded, and my heart sank a little, since I knew he would stay at the
lab all night if he had to. He was too much of a perfectionist to show
off his toys in anything less than perfect working order. But then I
brightened up again, thinking about spending the night, perhaps the entire
next day, locked into the suit, waiting for his return. My heart beat a
little faster, and I smiled, although he probably couldn't tell through
the mouth hole of the helmet.
"I know," I said. "It's okay. That was great, I mean it!" And I did
mean it.
"Will you be okay?" he asked, looking up finally, his love and concern
for me practically glowing behind his eyes.
"I'll be fine. Do what you need to do."
I decided he wasn't going to get off lightly, though.
"I'll be waiting for you, in bed, whenever you do get home. And I'll
still be locked into this suit! At least now I won't go insane with lust,
waiting for you to get home, hee-hee!"
"Okay. I guess. But hey! I'm forgetting the big news! Come on, I've
got something to show you!" He headed for the door before I stopped him
by pointing out that he was still bare from the waist down. While my
absent-minded genius put his pants back on, I collected the various parts
of my suit that had been so hurriedly tossed around the room. I had a
feeling I'd want them when I got home.
"So have you named this monstrosity yet?" I asked when we got back to the
lab. I wanted to get his mind back on his work, since I knew the sooner
he solved it, the sooner he would be home.
"I suppose. Siegfried calls it the Direct Structural Modification
machine, or DSM. By structural, we're talking about molecular structure,
of course. It's not very romantic, but it's descriptive."
"And what's the problem?"
"Oh. It's not a big problem really, I'm just rigging up some fancy
displays so I can explain to the bean-counters just what a potential gold
mine this project is. But one of the displays is giving me funny
readings. I think the trouble is in the cables."
"So the machine is working better now?" I asked.
"Heh, heh, heh," he replied. He had that little-boy look of mischief
that I knew meant he had accomplished something he was very proud of.
"Oh boy, did we fix it! And we found out a lot of interesting things
too. Watch this!"
He grabbed a potted plant off the desk, and took it over to the machine.
I suppose I should describe this invention of his, not that it matters
now. It was really a hodge podge of cabinets and wires slung everywhere,
not at all the clean, high tech-looking sort of thing one sees in the
movies. But having lived with my husband for all these years has taught
me that real science is almost always messy.
There were three big cabinets that sat equally spaced around a turntable
about a foot tall and six feet in diameter. A big horn antenna on each
of the three cabinets pointed at the table. Off to one side was a long
metal box with a white panel that looked like ceramic, in one end. It
also pointed at the table.
Jurgen put the plant on the turntable. There was already a pile of other
items on it. I looked around at the machinery. Indicators and lamps
glowed everywhere. I realized he had been in the middle of an experiment
when I walked in. Then I saw the rabbit in a cage, sitting on the
turntable. I grabbed his shoulder.
"Wha?" he said, startled.
"What's with the rabbit?" I demanded. Jurgen knew how strongly I felt
about the mistreatment of animals, no matter how important the
experiment was supposed to be.
"Don't worry. That's just the point I'm going to make. You know I
wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Trust me."
"I thought you said it used x-rays or something," I said, still not
convinced.
"Yeah, that long box is the x-ray laser," he answered. "But the total
dose is way lower than what you'd get from a chest x-ray. Actually,
that's one of the most powerful X-ray lasers in existence, outside of
maybe Lawrence Livermore Labs, but their stuff is all secret. Anyway,
the efficiency of x-ray lasers stinks- they don't have much output."
I tried to stay out of the way while he prepared. The whole procedure
took only a minute. He flipped a switch, and the turntable started
rotating. Then he twisted a dial, pressed a button, and taking my hand,
led me to the back of the room. I noticed a large digital display in one
of the instrument racks was counting down from one minute.
"So, ah, is it safe to be this close?"
"So far as we can tell it is, but I rigged a timer, just in case.
We're pretty sure now that it's completely safe, but it never hurts to
be careful."
When the counter reached zero, there was a brief, loud hum, followed by
a soft thud.
"What was that?" I asked, worried.
"The laser. Or rather, the laser power supply- it makes that sound when
the laser fires."
That was it. I couldn't see that anything had happened. I shot a
curious look at Jurgen, then realized he couldn't see my expression.
He had a big grin on his face. "Come," he said.
We walked over to the table. The bunny was still there, looking the same
as it had before. It wiggled it's nose at a piece of lettuce in the cage,
but left it alone.
One by one, Jurgen held up the other items for my inspection, saying
nothing at first, just grinning.
A thick metal rod, aluminum I think, appeared unchanged, until he bent
it... far too easily.
The potted plant appeared no different than before.
Likewise a glass ashtray.
But a piece of dry wood that had been sitting on the ashtray appeared to
have flowed and melted, without any evidence of heat or charring, and was
now a perfect molded copy of the ashtray underneath. And it still looked
and felt like wood, at least through my gloves. I sniffed it. It smelled
like regular old pine.
"Isn't that incredible?" exploded Jurgen. "And look at that rabbit, and
the plant. How old would you say that plant is?"
I was worried, I had never seen him look so agitated.
I looked at it. It was just a garden variety petunia, the sort that
withers in a few weeks.
"A week?" I suggested.
"No! That fucking flower is over six months old," he crowed. "It's the
very first thing we exposed. And guess when we watered it last?"
I shrugged.
"We never have." He held the pot out to me. The plant was stuck into a
piece of foam, the roots splayed out against the bottom of the pot. No
soil. I shivered. Was he pulling my leg?
"But you can see that it's thriving! Here, smell it- it's real. We
checked it under a microscope, sent samples to a botany lab. They called
back, wanting to know what the hell we had sent them- they said the cells
were functioning at a normal rate, but they weren't deteriorating as fast
as they normally do. It's alive, and not just preserved, but it is aging
very slowly, and IT ISN'T GETTING ANY OF IT'S USUAL NUTRIENTS, EXCEPT
LIGHT!."
"Right," I said, "so what's keeping it alive?" I was skeptical, but
His excitement was infecting me.
"That's just it, we don't know."
"And the rabbit?"
"That rabbit didn't eat or drink anything for six weeks after the
first time we exposed it! At first we thought it was sick but we checked
it out, and it's fine- hasn't even lost weight or eliminated waste! It's
biologically impossible, but it's true. Somehow, the metabolism of the
plant and the rabbit have been drastically altered. But with no harmful
effects that we can find. And for some reason, the machine has entirely
different effects on living things than on inanimate objects. We haven't
got a clue what's happening here, but I'll tell you this: it's big- very
big."
I was astounded. At first I thought he might be putting me on, but the
look in his eyes was unmistakable. Then in spite of my awe at what he
had accomplished, I was seized with a funny thought.
"It'd make a hell of a dietary method."
"Heh-heh," he laughed nervously. "Right. None of us has been brave,
or maybe foolish is the word... anyway, brave enough to go that far.
Even though we've run a few primates through it; spider monkeys, chimps,
that sort of thing. We can't find _any_ evidence of neural dysfunction,
brain damage, or anything else wrong, just that impossible metabolism.
But we're a long way from trying it on a human."
"You could try it on me," I suggested, in my best bimbo voice.
"Yeah, right," he shot back, "and how do you think I'd feel if it turned
you into guacamole?"
"You'd probably feel like taking a ah, DIP," I said.
"AUGH! Silence woman, before I put that gag back into use."
I fingered the pump gag where I'd hung it around my neck.
"Promises, promises," I sighed.
"You're incorrigible," he accused with a smile. "Anyway, while it
doesn't seem to have harmed the test animals so far, it does have very
different effects on different materials. Oh! I wanted to see what it
does to latex! I brought one of your old stockings with me... it's in the
car. Wait here a minute!"
He trotted towards the door. "And don't touch anything," he shouted over
his shoulder.
I was left standing in front of the turntable, my thoughts a jumble of
fantastic possibilities and wild fantasies.
And then... I don't know what came over me. I don't know what I was
thinking. But he'd said that it didn't hurt primates hadn't he? That
part about not eating though, that really interested me. And Jurgen
wouldn't have to know. I could do it and be done long before he could
get all the way down to the parking lot and back. I guess I'm not really
as smart as I think I am. Without really thinking about it, I pulled
everything off the turntable, turned the timer knob down to fifteen
seconds, pushed the start button, and stepped clumsily onto the slowly
rotating platform.
I stood there waiting, watching the room turn around me, while the clock
counted down. I remembered that old movie The Fly, where the scientist
gets horribly disfigured by trying his machine on himself. I began to
have second thoughts. I looked at the digital clock as it came into
view. Six seconds. Just as I was deciding to back out, I spotted Jurgen
walking down the hall. He saw me at the same time I saw him.
"Diana, NO!" he shouted, breaking into a run, but it was too late for
both of us.
I heard a buzzing sound, and felt a wave of tingling warmth spread though
my body. It felt wonderful! I can't describe it. It was like... oh, I
don't know, I don't think there are words good enough to describe it. It
felt as though I were being dipped in warm syrup perhaps, only better- my
entire skin had suddenly become as sensitive as my sex. At the same time,
I was suddenly acutely aware of all of the simulation I was receiving from
the suit that I had been trying to ignore... the constriction of my waist,
the entire surface of the suit stretched taught around my body, the arched
shape that my feet were forced into by the boots, all of this and more
clamored for my attention simultaneously. This incredible battery of
sensations grew and grew until I couldn't stand it, I thought I would
explode, I thought I would die. As I turned, I saw Jurgen running toward
me, but in slow motion, as if he were running through water.
I recognized the feeling that was building within me. It was an orgasm,
but an orgasm so intense, it frightened me out of my wits. I was
immobilized, I couldn't move a muscle, there was nothing I could do to
stop what was coming. So to speak. The sensations peaked, and the first
wave of my climax broke over me. I screamed with pure pleasure, as a
white light seemed to fill the room, and for one eternal moment, I thought
I really had died, and perhaps was on my way to heaven. I WAS bliss, I
was ecstasy personified.
I passed out.
...to be continued in Part Three
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From: blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Gomez)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.fetish.fashion,alt.sex.stories
Subject: STORY: The Accident, part 3, (mf,fetish,bondage)
Date: 19 Dec 1994 21:44:37 -0700
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
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All parts of "The Accident" are (c) 1994,
William A. Lemieux. May be freely distributed by cybernetic
media, provided no fee is charged or profit gained. Hardcopies are
expressly forbidden without prior consent of the author. May not be
published or distributed otherwise without permission.
....... DISCLAIMER, DATCLAIMER, POLICY NOTICE AND DAMAGE WAIVER .........
. .
. While I appreciate the implied (and explicit) compliments, I simply .
. don't have time to accommodate requests for copies, chapters, etc. .
. .
. Any similarity between story characters and actual persons is .
. unintentional and purely coincidental... honest. The same goes for .
. any company names you might THINK you've seen before- pure chance. .
. After all, I would never stoop so low as to shamelessly plug a vendor .
. that I thought was particularly worthy, such as BR Creations, The .
. Stockroom, Remawear, or DeMask- no, that would never do. .
. .
. 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. .
. Criticism on technique (what little there is) and writing style are .
. welcomed by e-mail. Flames will be cheerfully ignored. .
. .
............................. cut here ..................................
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 3
February 15th.
Dear Diary,
It looks like this is taking longer to get written down than I thought it
would. I took a break from writing yesterday, and just relaxed. Well, I
relaxed as much as I can these days. But I digress. I was talking about
the accident at the lab...
When I awoke, I was lying on my back, Jurgen's beautiful face filling my
vision. He was sobbing, calling my name over and over.
"Ack!" I said. I'm really eloquent when I wake up.
"You're alive! Thank God!" he said. "There was no way to tell, no
way..." he broke down again for a moment, then seemed to rally himself.
"All right. Gotta get calmed down. Gotta get you out of this. What the
hell has happened to you? Jesus..."
I sighed softly, in what I hoped was a reassuring way. I felt a
lingering desire for the incredible feeling I had just experienced. I
wanted to go back to that place of light and heat and joy. The noise got
a response from Jurgen.
"Oh! What am I doing?" he said, to no one in particular. He looked into
my eyes, or at least, into the lenses of my helmet. I was still wearing
the suit!
"Are you all right in there? Can you breathe okay?"
I answered "Uh-huh" to each question through a tightly closed jaw.
Something seemed to be wrong with my mouth.
"How do you feel?"
The something wrong was that I couldn't open my mouth, it was clamped
shut. I spoke through closed teeth. I must have sounded silly.
"I'm fine. I feel... strange but, God honey, that was the greatest
feeling I've experienced in my whole life."
"It was? But... you screamed."
"I usually do when I come." Always the subtle diplomat, that's me.
"Oh. Well, at least your mind seems to be okay... but jeez, something
happened- look at the suit!"
I tried to sit up. That was when I realized why I felt so strange. I
couldn't move. I don't mean I was paralyzed. I could feel my muscles
flexing slightly within whatever was holding me firm. And each time I did
I felt amazing tingles of warmth shoot through me from wherever my skin
slid within the suit. It felt wonderful, but it wasn't normal, and that
scared the hell out of me, so I stopped trying to move. I didn't want to
stop, mind you. It felt very, very nice. Like sexual sensations.
Wonderful, really. But I could tell that something was very wrong with
me, and I was more than a little frightened.
I was breathing okay, but with some difficulty. I realized that I was
embedded inside something rigid. I could only breathe by exhaling,
forcing the air out of my lungs, since whatever had me in it's grip didn't
allow my chest to expand at all.
"Um, I can't seem to move right now," I said nervously. "Why? What's
wrong with the suit?"
"It's ah, well, for one thing, it's not purple any more. It's black. I
thought maybe it had gotten really hot or something."
"No, at least I don't think so. I feel fine. I felt a little warm when
I was... when it... well anyway, I'm not burned or anything."
"And it's a lot shinier than it was too," he added.
"Huh. Well right now, it's also rock solid, and I want out."
"Don't worry hon, we'll have you out of there in no time," my love told
me. He glanced at his watch. "Shit! The others will be here any minute,
they're supposed to come in early! I've got to get you out of here!"
He tugged at my arm.
"Listen hon, I can't seem to budge your suit- it's gone completely
rigid."
So that was it!
"No kidding, really?" I shot back. "I can't move. Heh. This could be
great fun, if I weren't so scared."
"What on earth possessed you to... never mind. We'll cover that later.
Um, are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I feel good. Really good, actually. I mean, every time I move,
I get these incredible sensations, like sex, only on my skin... whatever
I move... or um, try to move."
I paused to take stock of my body, trying to move something, anything.
Once again, waves of pleasure shot through me, but it was a fruitless
exercise. I tried turning my head, opening my jaw. Nope. It was as if
I were cast in stone.
"Okay, listen honey- I'm going to take you home, okay? We have to get
you out of here before my partners show up. They would flip if they
found out! Okay, here we go- Oof!"
To my amazement, he picked me up, and with some difficulty, carried me to
the door. My husband is a scientist not a linebacker, and I knew he
couldn't carry me very far. At the door, he had to set me down again, and
turn me around, then pull me by the shoulders through the narrow doorway.
I was completely helpless. He tried to pick me up again, but the heroic
effort he'd made in the lab must have worn him out. He couldn't do it.
It's not that I'm heavy, mind you! I'm in great shape. But the only
exercise my husband gets is popping the top on a Coke while starting into
a computer screen. He had to drag me the rest of the way to the front
door.
He got me to the outside door and dragged me through, when an amazing
thing happened. Suddenly, I could move! I couldn't see as well, since it
was dark out, but I wiggled, and he nearly dropped me in shock.
"What the hell?" he said. He set me carefully on my feet. "It softened!
Thank God, it must have been a temporary effect. Do you feel okay, hon-
can you walk?
I nodded. But as soon as I started to move, those same amazing,
delicious sensations coursed through me, from all over my body now, as the
tight suit slithered around my lubricated skin. The little dildos that I'd
put back in were still rockin' and rollin' too. I moaned and came to a
halt, shuddering.
"What is it? What's wrong?" my hubby asked. There was panic in his
voice. He must have thought something terrible had happened to me, that I
must be suffering.
I turned slowly, carefully, so I could keep my thoughts coherent.
"I'm fine. It just feels... TOO GOOD," I said slowly.
"What?! What does?"
"Everything, moving anything feels like, well, like I said, like sex!
My whole skin feels like one big erogenous zone!"
He stared at me then, as he might have stared at a particularly
interesting insect that had wandered onto his desk.
"Well. I'll. Be. Damned." he finally said. "But other than that, you're
sure you're all right. Nothing else is wrong?"
I nodded silently, the suit silently making love to my neck and scalp as
I did so.
"Right then, let's get you home." He fairly dragged me to his car, while
I tottered and stumbled on my stiletto heels. Ignoring my protests and
moans of excitement, except to ask once if I was still okay, he stuffed me
into the passenger seat, and took off like a shot. I nearly came just
climbing in.
When we got home he pulled me inside, turned on the light, and I promptly
froze. That's when we figured it out; That the suit is light sensitive.
In the bright light of our front hall chandelier, I was frozen solid, the
suit having once again turned as solid as marble. I figured it out right
away of course, it took my husband a little longer.
"What's wrong?" Jurgen asked, not realizing why I had stopped. He closed
the door behind us and grabbed me by the wrist, and as soon as he did, the
truth dawned on him. He turned out the light. I could move again. He
turned it on, I became a statue. Or rather, the suit did, and since I was
stuck inside it, I was just as immobilized. He turned the light off again.
I moved my arm, letting him know I could move. I should mention that
"move" is relative. The suit was as restricting as it had been when I
first put it on. The heavy boning on the corset for example, made it
quite impossible for me to bend at the waist.
He took my hand and guided me into the living room, sat me in a chair,
turned on the light. He tapped on the suit with a pen. It made a hard
click, as if I had been carved from granite.
"Damn. This is very interesting. I guess I can't go back to the lab-
there's no way I can leave you alone like this," he said.
He called the lab, leaving a voice mail message that a family emergency
had come up, and then started examining me in earnest.
"Well, interesting suit or not, we've got to get you out of it so we
can check you out. There's no telling what changes have happened to you.
I want to get you to a hospital." So saying, he turned the dimmer until
the lights were softer, and we found that the suit gradually became
softer as the light dimmed.
"Huh. Okay, I'll be right back." He pounded upstairs and back again,
and I saw a gleam in his hand. He had the key to the little lock I'd put
on the corset flap. He turned me over and fumbled behind me. I felt,
rather than heard the click as the lock was removed, then I heard him
swear softly.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said softly.
"What?"
His tone worried me. He turned me back over, and examined the collar of
the suit. He plucked at it, tugged at it.
"Son of a bitch." he said. I hadn't heard him swear this much in
one day for as long I'd known him. I was getting really worried now.
"What's wrong, dammit?" I said, alarm rising in my throat.
"It's just that... Well, dammit, your helmet seems to have melted some."
"What!" I said. I was on the verge of panic now.
"Now hold on a second," he soothed, in his best Daddy-will-fix-it voice,
"don't get excited. The suit material where the neck meets the helmet
appears to have ah, sort of welded together. In fact, I can't see any of
the glue seams where the suit was put together, it's sort of smoothed
out. Neat effect, really, but it's going to be a lot harder to get it
off you. I don't think we can stretch that mouth hole around your entire
body. Hmm. I'm just going to have to cut it off, I'm afraid."
"You've got to be kidding!" I yelled, "this suit cost us nearly three
thousand dollars!"
"Right!" he retorted, "What's more important: your health, or a piece
of fun clothing? I'll buy you another one, for God's sake!"
I fumed, but I did it silently. To be honest, I was worried too, and
while I really felt fine, I wanted to be checked out by a doctor.
He came back with a pair of bandage cutters from the first aid kit.
I was grateful, considering I didn't particularly want my skin sliced
open. He couldn't get the blunt lower edge to penetrate. Not to be
defeated, he pulled a fold of the suit away from my skin. The bandage
cutters wouldn't nick it.
"Huh," he said, and left the room. He came back with the Fiskars shears
from my sewing kit. They're really sharp, I've cut myself with them more
than once. They didn't even mark the suit. Jurgen looked up into my
eyes, which admittedly, he probably couldn't see through the dark lenses.
I stared back anyway.
"Toto," he said seriously, "I don't think this is latex any more."
"Very funny," I said, "then what is it? Come on, get me out of this!"
"I'm working on it, I'm working on it. And to be honest, I don't KNOW
what it is. But I do know that no rubber I've ever seen resists a good
sharp pair of scissors! Lemme try something else. Hold on a sec."
He disappeared again.
I heard him go down to his lab / workshop in the basement. When he
returned, he had a pair of heavy duty metal cutting sheers in his hand.
Needless to say, they didn't work. I was beginning to get the idea at
that point, but it took a lot longer for the real truth to sink in.
"Okay hon, I want your permission to try a knife."
"Hey, wait a damn minute here! Lemme think," I said. Then I had an
idea. "This reminds me of when we did the body cast thing, remember?
So what if you..."
I saw the light go on over his head, and he took off again. He returned
in a few minutes with the cast saw he had bought a few years ago, when he
had put me in a plaster cast.
He turned the room lights up full and the suit became rigid. He turned
the saw on, and I winced at the awful whine it made. I had to remind
myself that the oscillating blade wouldn't cut skin, just the hard, rigid
suit material.
He pressed the blade against the whatever-it-was, and it made an awful
racket. After a moment, I noticed it wasn't making any dust. He took
the saw away and looked down in amazement. There wasn't any sign of his
efforts except for a slightly glossier area on the already shiny
material.
"Um," he said.
"No go, huh?"
"Nope. Lemme think a moment."
After a long pause, during which I mentally kicked myself a thousand
times for meddling with that damned machine, he spoke again.
"Okay. What I need to do is get another sample of this material, so I
can play with it, find out if there's a solvent for it, find out what
will cut it, and so on."
"But I thought you said the the other researchers were going to be
showing up soon," I argued.
I felt a little more calm now, since it didn't look like I was in any
immediate danger. My darling was a brain- he would figure something out!
"They are. I'll have to go back tomorrow night with some latex, expose
it the same way, and hopefully, I'll wind up with a material with the same
properties."
"And in the meantime?" I asked, beginning to wonder how long I would
have to spend in the suit.
"In the meantime, you should try to relax. You've had a long day.
Why don't I put you to bed?"
...to be continued in Part 4.
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!nyx10.cs.du.edu!not-for-mail
From: blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Gomez)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.fetish.fashion,alt.sex.stories
Subject: STORY: The Accident, part 4 (mf,fetish,bondage)
Date: 19 Dec 1994 21:47:52 -0700
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
Lines: 419
Message-ID: <3d5nlo$mb4@nyx10.cs.du.edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: nyx10.cs.du.edu
Xref: usenet.ucs.indiana.edu alt.sex.bondage:7783 alt.sex.fetish.fashion:411
alt.sex.stories:6226
All parts of "The Accident" are (c) 1994,
William A. Lemieux. May be freely distributed by cybernetic
media, provided no fee is charged or profit gained. Hardcopies are
expressly forbidden without prior consent of the author. May not be
published or distributed otherwise without permission.
....... DISCLAIMER, DATCLAIMER, POLICY NOTICE AND DAMAGE WAIVER .........
. .
. While I appreciate the implied (and explicit) compliments, I simply .
. don't have time to accommodate requests for copies, chapters, etc. .
. .
. Any similarity between story characters and actual persons is .
. unintentional and purely coincidental... honest. The same goes for .
. any company names you might THINK you've seen before- pure chance. .
. After all, I would never stoop so low as to shamelessly plug a vendor .
. that I thought was particularly worthy, such as BR Creations, The .
. Stockroom, Remawear, or DeMask- no, that would never do. .
. .
. 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. .
. Criticism on technique (what little there is) and writing style are .
. welcomed by e-mail. Flames will be cheerfully ignored. .
. .
............................. cut here ..................................
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 4
February 20th.
Dear Diary,
I took another break from writing. It's hard sometimes, looking back,
and wondering how I could have been so stupid as to get myself into
this position. Not to mention thinking about the future, and what will
become of me. I was thirty-two when the accident occurred. How long
do I have now?
Geez, this is becoming a book all by itself! Poor diary, it looks like
I'm running out of pages, and I might have to continue this in another
binder. Don't worry, it will still be a part of you- a part of my life.
Perhaps I shall put all of this into one big story some day and have it
published. There would be no danger, although I'm sure Jurgen would
never agree to it. After who would believe it- it's too fantastic! My
husband has been keeping tabs on the project that caused all this, and
there hasn't been anything really new discovered. But I'm getting ahead
of myself again. I was telling you about the accident. We had just
gotten home, and Jurgen had tried to get the suit off me, with no luck at
all...
"In the meantime, you should try to relax. You've had a long day.
Why don't I put you to bed?"
I allowed as how that might be a good idea. He turned down the lights
and helped me up the stairs to the bedroom. I admit, the sensation I
experienced just from climbing the stairs nearly made me come half way
there. He tried to tuck me into bed, but I was all over him as soon as
he let me go. Between the trip home, and the brief hike up the stairs,
I was raring to go, and I let him know in no uncertain terms. I
suppose I was doing a slow boil even downstairs, but my nervousness at
being trapped had preoccupied me. I guess I'd decided I would be okay,
because I'd forgotten all about that now. I pushed him onto his back,
and nearly tore his pants from him. I did pop a few buttons getting his
shirt off before I attacked his nipples. He moaned and crushed my latex
-encased head against his chest. I slipped out of his hands and slid my
attentions lower, licking along the way to my goal.
When I got there, he was already at attention, his gorgeous cock pulsing
in time to his heartbeat, a tiny drop of pre-come glistening on the tip.
Jurgen does NOT do that unless he has been aroused for a while. I knew
then that he must have been as turned on as I was at my "predicament",
but had been suppressing it while he worried about how to get me out.
I serviced him with complete abandon, wiggling as I did so, for with
every squirm and shimmy, hot waves of pleasure, like surges of liquid
electricity, shot through me. I had never enjoyed giving head more, and
I'm sure it must have showed in my performance.
Before he could come however, he pushed me off of him, and in a husky
voice, ordered me to stretch out on the bed. Ah, this was more like the
old Jurgen! It had been so long...
I stretched out, and he positioned me spread-eagle, as if her were going
to tie my limbs to the bed posts for the hundredth time. But once he had
me the way he wanted, he simply walked over and turned on the light!
Instantly, I was frozen in that position, immobilized as never before.
"Don't go anywhere," he said with a brief smile, before I heard his
footsteps pounding downstairs. He reappeared moments later with the pump
gag I had worn to the lab.
"Gee, bored with my mouth so soon, dear?" I'm such a card- I just _had_
to shoot my mouth off. He didn't reply, just stuffed in the bladder and
snapped the flange into place. I hummed softly with delight as he
pumped it up. I do so love being gagged, and there is nothing so
satisfyingly mouth-filling as a well-made pump gag. The bladder filled
my mouth to capacity, and the effect was made even more severe, given
that my cheeks and jaw were unable to expand, due to the now-rigid hood.
I moaned as the pressure increased, and was startled to hear how quiet
the sound was. This material absorbed sound quite well. Jurgen took my
moan as a cue, and stopped pumping.
I could see that the whole situation had my sweetheart in a terrible
state of arousal. He was shaking slightly, and his cock stood out stiff,
despite the lack of attention paid to it in the last few minutes. It was
pulsing slightly with his heartbeat, as hard and large as I'd ever seen it.
When he was finished pumping, he climbed back onto the bed with me, and
to my disappointment, did not enter me immediately. I was ready, oh, how
I was ready, and it was obvious he was too, but my dear sadistic husband
had other plans. It's a sign of his love for me that he put my pleasure
ahead of his own. He lay down next to me, and using one hand, began to
gently tug and tweak the rings in my sex. He avoided my knob, damn him,
instead teasing everything else, getting as close to my clit as he could
without actually touching it.
I squirmed and writhed inside my hard, shiny prison, and each movement
amplified the pleasure he gave me as waves of sexual energy shot out from
my skin where it rubbed inside the suit. I could see that this new set of
erogenous zones would be a real problem if I didn't get out of the suit!
Finally, he let go my outer sex, and gently flicked my clit ring with
the end of his finger. After only a few flicks, I was ready to explode,
and I tried to let him know with the incoherent noises I was making
through the gag, but it was no use. Finally, just as I thought I would
die from excitement, he stopped, and climbed on top of me quickly. All at
once and nothing first, he rammed into me up to the hilt in one thrust.
The hot thickness of him, and his pubic bone crushing against my clit
was all that I needed, and I was off on the wildest ride of my life (at
least at that point), my rigidly held body spasming and convulsing against
the hard confines of my suit. After a few seconds of this, my forebrain
hung up the "Out To Lunch" sign, and I ceased to think, just revelling in
the ecstasy as wave after wave of climax and spending rolled over me.
After some unknown time, (Jurgen told me later I came for a minute or
so), I realized he hadn't moved at all since that first urgent thrust.
As soon as he did, starting before I was even wound down from my first
set of climaxes, I was off again, coming almost continuously as he
pounded relentlessly into my greedy, twitching sex.
I think I passed out.
When I became aware again, the lights were low, the pump gag was no
filling my mouth, and I could move again. Jurgen's face was hovering over
mine.
"All you all right?"
"Mmmm," I answered, as I looked around for the part of my brain that did
the talking, "ahh, yes. I'm very much `all right'. I love you."
"I love you too, hon. Can I towel you off? We seem to have made a mess."
I giggled. "Okay." As he rubbed gently at my crotch (we kept old towels
in the underdresser of the bed for "sex towels"), I clamped my thighs on
his hand.
"Wait. Take it easy, I'm still a little sensitive."
He climbed off me, smiled, and said, "I'll be right back. Will you be
okay?"
I nodded, thinking it unusual for him to climb out of bed so soon after
sex. One nice thing about my husband, he always stays with me, cuddling
and talking, if I want, after sex. One of the biggest complaints I've
heard from the few other wives I've talked to about sex, is that their
husbands always either roll over and go to sleep, or jump out of bed to go
do something, and don't understand why you'd want to just lie there and
cuddle quietly for an hour.
I got more and more irked as the clock ticked on (actually, our bedside
clock is a digital electronic one, but you know what I mean) and no hubby.
But I forgave him instantly, as he appeared about fifteen minutes later,
carrying a tray laden with two steaming mugs, and a plate of Pfeffernuse
cookies, Jurgen's specialty. That's right, my darling, on top of all his
other talents, can cook too. With the exception of not being much of an
athlete, he is such a renaissance man.
Setting the tray on the bedside table, he clambered back into the bed
with me, and though I could move just fine, insisted on feeding me
himself, alternating little sips of hot chocolate laced with peppermint
schnapps, and bites of cookie. I was in heaven, and not having to move at
all allowed me to relax completely. After a mug of that potent
concoction, I went out like a light.
-=O=-
August 3rd.
Dear Diary,
It has been nearly six months now since The Accident, as we have come to
call it. As you may have guessed by now, dear Diary, all the rest of his
attempts to remove the suit, or even to scratch it, have been fruitless.
Oh sure, he tried everything short of killing me. He went back to the lab
and tried making more of the material. It didn't work. Well, strictly
speaking, that's not true. Once it turned a piece of the same exact latex
into a puddle of foul smelling liquid, but that wasn't exactly helpful.
We both agree that it would be extremely foolish, not to mention quite
dangerous, to expose me to the machine again. So that's out. He has
tried stretching it away from my body and cutting it with a torch. It
turns out the suit conducts heat very well. The whole thing got
uncomfortably hot pretty fast, and the torch didn't even leave a mark on
it.
I've gotten used to the suit though. I know I may very likely spend
the rest of my life in it. I've adjusted to the idea, and well, there
are some really nice benefits. I'm beginning to think of it as a part
of me. When I look in the mirror, I see the same thing every day, and to
me, it's just the way my body looks now.
We've figured out that some profound changes have happened to me, and not
just the fact that my entire body is now an erogenous zone. Like Jurgen's
rabbit at the lab, I haven't been eating. I haven't even been hungry. I
haven't had to go to the bathroom (thank God!) and apparently, I'm not
even sweating. I should have started smelling bad, not to mention
itching, after being trapped in the suit for only a few days (without a
bath), but that has never happened. I think my nails have stopped
growing, too.
There is something else though, and it's implications are so frightening,
I didn't tell my husband for two days after I figured it out.
I know now where I am getting my energy. The question arose as soon
as I stopped eating, because let's face it, _something_ was keeping me
alive and warm, if it wasn't food.
It's light.
Somehow, the suit itself (I think) is feeding me, keeping me renewed,
who knows, perhaps even keeping me young, by absorbing light, and then
doing... well, whatever it does.
To test this, I stayed in the dark a whole day and on into that night.
By evening I felt weak and dizzy. As soon as Jurgen turned on the lights,
I felt an intense tingling warmth all over me, and within minutes I felt
much better. When he took me down to the kitchen, which has better
lighting, the feeling got much stronger- in fact, it felt really good.
Jurgen got a big work light from his shop and played it across me and
the sensations were incredible! It was very similar to how I felt during
The Accident itself, although no where near the intensity. We have played
with this phenomenon a few times since, as a reward to me when I've been
good. "When I have been good." Hee-hee! Yes, diary, we have been
getting more and more into the dominance and submission side of the kinky
games we have always played.
We have heavy drapes on all the windows now, and dimmers on all the
lights so I can move around the house. But Jurgen can always immobilize
me totally, whenever he wishes, with the twist of a knob. Whenever he is
at work I have been staying indoors during the day, out of paranoia I
suppose, even though our nearest neighbors are miles away on the other
side of the ridge, and we never get uninvited guests. We both know that
I'm now a scientific curiosity, and neither one of us wants me to become a
guinea pig in some secret government laboratory.
Unfortunately, we had to spread the word that he and I have gotten a
divorce, and that I moved away immediately, otherwise it would be awkward
when guests came to visit. There would be too many questions.
But anyway, I had been playing with light a lot when Jurgen was at work.
We have this big police flashlight in the kitchen drawer that is very
bright. The feelings I got by playing over my "skin" were incredible. I
could shine it on just one breast, and get the same sensations emanating
from there as I do when I ah, "jill off".
So a few weeks ago, I decided I just had to try out direct sunlight. I
knew Jurgen would have fits, because of what might happen if someone
discovered me, but really, no one ever came to the house any more, except
for the occasionally parcel delivery man, and we weren't expecting any
packages. And besides, it was one of those times when Jurgen was busy
on the project again, and I'd been suffering a lack of his attentions
lately. We already knew, through fooling around with the flashlight, that
the only parts of the suit that are affected by light or dark are the ones
that are exposed. In other words, I can stick my arm in a lighted
closet, and it becomes rigid, but not the rest of the suit.
So a few weeks ago, I left Jurgen a note on the refrigerator telling him
he could find me in the back yard. I dug out one of our oldest toys, a
leather body bag with a drawstring top that was in poor condition, and cut
the bottom out of it. I pulled it on over me, with my head poking through
the top, and snugged the string around my neck. The bag reached the floor,
covering my feet. I went outside, into the back yard. As soon as the sun
hit me, my neck and head went rigid, and a tremendous, indescribably
delicious sensation sprang up all around the area. There was a sort of
rushing hum, like a chorus of voices, in my ears. As I walked, I could
feel my booted feet alternately going rigid, then softening (somewhat-
they had never been all that soft), and little pulses of electric joy shot
up from them as they peeked out from under the bag. I walked into the
middle of the yard, where I knew I'd be well-lit for the next eight hours
or so.
I loosened the string at my neck, spread my feet a little and dug my
heels into the grass. I hesitated. The wonderful feelings from my feet
and head and neck made me wonder whether I could stand the full effect
without going nuts. What I was about to do might make me crazy. But I
wanted it. Oh God, diary, how I wanted it. I screwed my courage to the
sticking point, let go of the string and dropped my arms. The bag slid
down my body, and I felt the suit stiffen as the light reached the rest of
it. And as the full warmth of the sun hit the suit, I gasped in shock and
mindless delight as the electrified tongues of a thousand phantom lovers
closed upon my body. Rational thought left me, and within seconds, I came.
I came and came and came, mentally and physically and spiritually, in an
unending and relentless orgasm that went beyond the merely physical
sensations of sex and swept away my mind on waves of joy and delight and
climax and spending, on and on and on.
The first thing I remember after dropping the bag was Jurgen looking at
me from a few feet away. The sun must have set, although the sky was
still light, and the suit was still rigid. The sensations had reduced in
intensity quite a bit however- I could think somewhat clearly again. The
look on my husband's face was inscrutable, however. I was so weak he had
to carry me inside, which wasn't easy, as I've said before. As soon as I
gathered my wits somewhat, I began to cry.
"Honey, what's wrong?" he asked, but I think he already knew the answer.
"That was so beautiful, so perfect, so... so much. I want it back. I
don't ever want it to end." I knew how I sounded. I had heard begging
like that when I had worked as a volunteer in a drug rehabilitation
center.
I am an addict.
But my husband's love has helped me through it. Though he is physically
ordinary, emotionally Jurgen must be the strongest husband any woman could
have. He keeps me happy. The sex is still great, although after that one
day, I thought I would never want ordinary sex (or kinky sex for that
matter) again. But the body forgets with time, and I still feel
incredible pleasure just from walking around.
Jurgen seems to be happy with our sex life, although I think he's a
little jealous of the heights of pleasure I am capable of reaching that
are forever denied to him. I have begun to worry about him.
-=O=-
June 21st.
Dear Diary,
It has been nearly a year since I last wrote. Life has been up and down.
For a while the physical differences between myself and Jurgen, and the
terrible isolation imposed upon me by the suit seemed almost too much to
bear for both of us. But what could I do, where could I go? I spent a
long time thinking suicidal thoughts, but eventually, I pulled through it.
Our relationship has improved, we are sleeping together, playing together
again. And now, there appears to be a light at the end of the tunnel at
last.
Last night I awoke to the sound of muttering.
The room was dimly lit, and I sat up to find Jurgen hunched over the
little desk we have in the corner of our bedroom. We use it mostly for
writing letters. The light in the room came from the lamp on the desk.
He was writing or drawing something, and occasionally talking to himself.
Jurgen almost never talks to himself unless he is intent on some very
important project. I wondered what he might be up to.
I sat up on one elbow and said, "What are you working on, hon?"
He answered without looking up.
"We had a breakthrough at the lab. Siegfried, he's our math whiz you
know, came up with some formulas to describe how the D.S.M. machine
works. With them, we should be able to calibrate and control it more
accurately, by an order of magnitude."
"Oh. Well then... wait a minute," I said, "does that mean there's any
chance you can duplicate my suit material? Or the effects it had on my
body?"
"It means, my dear, that we'll be able to produce any effect we want,
within the limits of physical laws... and hopefully, reverse them as well."
Finally, he turned away from the desk and looked at me.
"Does that mean what I think it means?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Will it be safe?"
"I'm certain of it. Look. Um, you know how I feel about the accident,"
he began. I interrupted him.
"And YOU know how I feel. I'm as happy as I ever was! I admit, I'd like
a change of pace... I mean, I'd like to be able to... well, it would be
nice just to feel your skin against mine again..."
"Yes. That's what I mean. This thing is keeping us apart. It's driving
me crazy! I'd be happy if you were well, normal again, or for that matter,
if I was just like you! But... I need to know what you want."
"I want you to be happy," I said, and I meant it. "I want us to be able
to share each other completely. If that means you becoming like me, fine.
If it means me becoming normal again, so be it."
"All right. But I think I can work it out so we can have the best of
both worlds..."
I was sleepy, and my eyes were drooping. "Okay dear, but why don't you
come to bed?" I glanced at the clock. "It's three A.M.!"
He came to bed, and we cuddled together and slept. My dreams were full
of bizarre bondage devices, cackling mad scientists, and incongruously,
rubber mermaids.
...to be continued in part 5
Gomez: mad scientist, gothic fetishboy, special effects wizard, and
Pervert Extraordinaire, may be reached at: blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu
"I'd like to give the world some rope, and teach it ligatry,
I'd like to teach the world to flog, in perfect harmony..."
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From: blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Gomez)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.fetish.fashion,alt.sex.stories
Subject: STORY: The Accident, part 5 (mf,fetish,bondage)
Date: 19 Dec 1994 21:49:39 -0700
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
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All parts of "The Accident" are (c) 1994,
William A. Lemieux. May be freely distributed by cybernetic
media, provided no fee is charged or profit gained. Hardcopies are
expressly forbidden without prior consent of the author. May not be
published or distributed otherwise without permission.
....... DISCLAIMER, DATCLAIMER, POLICY NOTICE AND DAMAGE WAIVER .........
. .
. While I appreciate the implied (and explicit) compliments, I simply .
. don't have time to accommodate requests for copies, chapters, etc. .
. .
. Any similarity between story characters and actual persons is .
. unintentional and purely coincidental... honest. The same goes for .
. any company names you might THINK you've seen before- pure chance. .
. After all, I would never stoop so low as to shamelessly plug a vendor .
. that I thought was particularly worthy, such as BR Creations, The .
. Stockroom, Remawear, or DeMask- no, that would never do. .
. .
. 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. .
. Criticism on technique (what little there is) and writing style are .
. welcomed by e-mail. Flames will be cheerfully ignored. .
. .
............................. cut here ..................................
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 5
June 28th.
Dear Diary,
Nothing much new to report today. Jurgen says the modifications to the
DSM machine are going well, and should be finished soon. We have decided
to put a high brick wall around the property, for security and privacy.
The workers are out there right now. When it is finished, we won't have
to worry about anyone seeing or bothering me.
Even if we are out in the middle of nowhere, we are both still paranoid.
Neither one of us wants me to become a scientific curiosity. And I'll be
able to stay outside during the day if I want. I'm not sure I want to go
through that again, as incredible as it was, because I think I am already
addicted to it. I wonder if this is how a recovered drug addict feels.
They say that the first time you smoke "crack" cocaine, it is better
than an orgasm. I hope I never find out. Anyway, I'll be glad when the
wall is done. Having the workmen around makes me nervous.
July 6th.
Dear Diary,
The wall around the property is finished. It looks nice, and is about
eight feet high, so it's unlikely anyone will be able to see in. Jurgen
has had a pair of fancy wooden gates installed with an automatic opener
at the driveway. There is also a small locked postern door in the back
that opens onto our old hiking trail.
Jurgen made another couple of toys for my suit, just to keep things
interesting. They are a pair of inflatable plugs that fit the sheaths
still stuck inside me. The pumps are little detachable puffer bulbs, and
what's more, he's put a little battery operated light inside each one, so
once he's blown them up, he can freeze them that size. He finished them
last night and we played. God, I never dreamed I could be stretched so
much! He did it gradually, giving my poor abused muscles time to stretch
and relax. After about an hour, I felt like I was getting an enema, both
front and rear. Then he pressed the little switch on each one, and
removed the pumps. I could hardly walk- I imagined that this was how a
pregnant woman feels giving birth. Of course I know it isn't that bad,
because giving birth is painful.
Later, he got out his big flashlight, and played it over my breasts,
crotch, and the rest of my body for about an hour. I never quite came,
although the sensations were exquisite. Afterwards, we had sex, good old
fashioned conventional sex, and it was the best we've had in a month.
They have started doing tests on the modified DSM machine. Jurgen came
home yesterday with a piece of rubber that has the physical properties
as my suit- it gets hard in the light. There may be hope yet!
Nothing much else new to write about.
July 11th.
Jurgen says they are running tests on animals now. They reversed
the physiological "photosynthesis" effect on that rabbit, apparently with
no ill effects. It is just like a normal rabbit, eating and crapping
regularly, thank God. I'm so excited!
July 14th.
More tests at the lab. Jurgen has been playing with rubber and plastics
after hours. He's managed to make an inverse form of the same latex as
my suit- it becomes rigid in the dark, and softens in light. He also made
some rubber that is very, very soft. It was originally ordinary thick
latex- a piece of an old pair of ankle boots. But now it stretches to
ridiculous limits, and is very soft- it contracts very slowly. Another
sample he came up with is crystal clear, yet it feels just like regular
latex rubber!
July 16th.
Jurgen came home with that "I know a secret" look of his. When I asked
him what was up, he smiled and said very quietly,
"I think I'm ready to get you out of the suit."
"But... but, what... I mean," I stammered. I was at a loss for words.
I was conflicted too. I wasn't one hundred percent certain I wanted to
be freed now. And I was afraid. The machine had made me different- had
made me a sex-toy that lived on, and got off on, light. What might it
do to me this time?
"What do you want to do?" I temporized. I wasn't ready to commit.
"We can tune it very closely now. I should be able to soften the
suit enough that we can take it off, without affecting you at all."
"And what about me... my body? Can you change me?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"Yes, but... what do you want?" he asked
"I'm not sure. I think I like being the way I am. It seems harmless,
and helpful, my figure stays perfect, my skin is flawless, everything
about my body stays perfect, without my doing anything. Who knows- I
might be immortal! I only wish..."
"What?"
"It... um, it's not really fair of me to ask."
"What?"
"Well, I wish... I mean, I get so much enjoyment, I can feel so good,
it's out of this world, I can't begin to describe it, and yet, you're
stuck with the same old body... it doesn't seem fair to you."
"I know. That's why I've decided to join you."
I was shocked for a moment. Then a rush of joy ran through me. Followed
by a shadow of doubt.
"But hon, I've been thinking. I get off, I feel good, I get recharged
and so on, when light hits the _suit_, not me. I mean, the suit isn't
transparent. So somehow, it's the suit that's feeding me, I think.
What about..."
"I know. It doesn't matter how it works. We can read the structural
and chemical differences between you and me, and the DSM will make me just
like you- it doesn't matter how it works, and we don't even have to
understand it."
"But what about the suit! I'll still have to wear the suit!"
"Not all the time- only when you want to. And consider: once we've
softened your suit, we can cut it, add a zipper, make it something
you can put on and take off. Hell, we might even be able to duplicate the
material and make one just like it for me!"
Well, to make a long story short, we went back to the lab that very
night. I was quivering with excitement, both from a fear of being
discovered in the bizarre outfit that had been sealed on me for so
long, and from a nagging sense of doubt. What if we were missing some
important part of the puzzle?
After my husband had made sure that no one else was about, he led me
to the lab again, turning out the lights so I could move around. I
noticed another entire rack of equipment had been added, and the
platform and machine itself looked more "slick", more professionally
finished now.
"Okay, we're warmed up," my love's voice said from behind the control
console. "Step up on the platform and I'll scan you."
The platform began turning, and then the humming started, but I felt
nothing. Perhaps there was the faintest warmth, but I may heave imagined
it.
After a few moments, he said, "Got it. Now it's my turn."
He appeared from behind the racks and took my place on the platform.
Then a look of fear crossed his face, and he said, "Good lord! I
almost forgot!"
He began undressing as he spoke. "Wouldn't want to do anything strange
to my clothes, would I?" He chuckled to make light of the grave error he
had almost made. Soon he was nude.
"Okay, so what do I do?" I asked.
"It's all set up, just walk back to that panel."
I did.
"Now, do you see the key switch on the left? Turn that to the right."
I did as I was told.
"Now, just to the right is a red button inside a black safety shroud.
Press that."
I did. There was a humming, followed by the same *thump* I had heard
that last time so many months ago, and a shiver went up my spine.
"Okay, turn the key off," came his voice, sounding somewhat puzzled.
I obeyed, and shot out from behind the console to check on my love.
He looked as puzzled as he had sounded, but was obviously fine.
"How do you feel?" I asked. I was worried sick.
"Oh fine, fine. I'm a little weak, and suddenly I feel kind of
hungry, but that's okay."
"I'll make you a huge steak when we get home. But is that all?" I
asked, remembering how I had climaxed under the influence of the
machine.
"Yeah. Didn't you say you got excited and came, when you were exposed?"
"Yes. You didn't feel anything?"
"No, just a warmth. But don't worry, we'll find out soon enough whether
it worked. Right now, I want to get you out of that suit!"
"Okay, I'm... I'm ready."
I clambered back up onto the turntable, while Jurgen babbled.
"We've got a data storage system on it now. I stored the parameters for
that super soft rubber, and the clear stuff too, on disk, along with a lot
of other things we came up with. All I have to do is recall them. I've
already confirmed as best I can that these settings don't affect anything
but that material you're wearing. Okay, are you ready?"
I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me from where he stood.
"I'm ready," I called.
I heard the humming, then the thump, and that was all. I hadn't felt a
thing. But as soon as I moved I did. It felt like my suit was falling
off! The sensation was so alien to me that I was badly startled. It was
loose! Jurgen came over and helped me down from the platform. Laying me
down on a workbench, he poked the suit carefully with a pair of scissors.
Sure enough, it could be cut! My dear mad scientist had finally done it!
The suit was now so loose that I could have literally slid it from my
body if the hood had not become permanently attached. But we had planned
for this. Jurgen made a careful cut with bandage scissors from my waist
at the front, through the crotch, and up the back to the crown of the
helmet. Although I slid out of it easily, the lack of support from the
corset section was quite uncomfortable, and I could already feel my back
muscles complaining. Later, we would cement a heavy duty zipper into the
slice, and re-zap the suit with Jurgen's widget. Then it could be put on
and taken off at will.
"Honey," I told him, "I think you'd better lace me into one of my old
corsets when I get home- my back is already killing me."
"Hmm, well, that's fine if we still have them- I think they're in those
boxes in the storage shed. After all, we weren't sure you'd ever need
them again! But right now, we'd better clean up and get out of here."
What we hadn't thought of was what I'd wear home if we did get the suit
off! Jurgen found a spare lab coat, and after a while, I wore it home. I
say "after a while" because we spent the better part of an hour just
exploring my body and skin. Neither one of us had seen my real body in
well over a year! He played with my piercings some, which had been
inaccessible for so long, and that led to other things, and, well, I'm
sure you can imagine. I wonder what some of his more conservative,
greyer-haired cohorts would think if they knew the uses to which we put
various benches, desks, and consoles during that hour or so.
My first inkling that anything was wrong came when we got home. As I
had promised, I made Jurgen a decent all-american steak-and-potatoes
dinner, something we seldom indulge in. He ate with gusto, but it came
right back up. I was appalled, but he shrugged it off to stress and
perhaps a flu bug that had been going around the lab, and after a while,
I calmed down. We turned in then, both of us exhausted by the day's
events.
July 18th.
This is not good. Jurgen can't eat anything. He tried to eat breakfast
this morning and it wouldn't stay down. He took some pills for motion
sickness, hoping they'd quell the nausea, and went to work, saying he
felt fine, just tired. Then this evening, he came home looking like he'd
been run over by a truck, pale and exhausted, and still couldn't eat
anything. If he isn't better in the morning, I'm keeping him home from
work and sending him to the clinic.
July 21st.
Well, wonder of wonders! We have created another monster. We found out
yesterday, by accident. Jurgen still had not eaten, and what's more, was
too weak to get out of bed. He had gone in to the clinic, which had
pronounced him fit and disease-free, but probably suffering from stress
and over-work, which by then we both knew was nonsense. Something had
happened to him, something the DSM machine had done, and it wasn't what
had happened to me. We had no way of knowing what it was, and I secretly
steeled myself to the knowledge that he might die.
That night, I tried to comfort him with a little sex. The love of my
life is blessed with a better-than-average libido for a man his age, (or
perhaps I should say _I_ am blessed, but I digress) but he told me he just
didn't have the energy.
"No, no, hon, just lie back and relax! I'll do all the work. Whatever
had gone wrong, it didn't seem to have harmed his equipment, since he got
hard quickly from my attentions. I had decided to make this love making
session something special, for who knew how long we might have together?
After I had him at attention, I proceeded to ignore mister happy, much to
my husband's chagrin, and gave him a long, leisurely tongue bath, something
he loves, but which served only to frustrate him further. By the time I
had deliberately waved my rear in his face for the third time, he was just
about whining with unabated desire, and I decided to take pity on him.
While I started to work his cock and balls over gently with my hands and
mouth, I squatted carefully on his face.
After only a few moments however, I had stopped working on him, and just
sat there distracted, as he proceeded to eat me with such gusto and
abandon as I had not seen in years! In fact, he was making such
ridiculous sounds of pleasure, lip-smacking and moaning and all (and I
wasn't even touching him) that I began to giggle a little. He ignored me
though, and as I slipped into the throws of my first orgasm of many that
night, I witnessed a very curious thing indeed. He came- suddenly, and
without warning, showering my chest, face and belly with his seed, and
what's more, he _kept_ coming, growling and screaming into my crotch, not
letting up his attentions for one second, as I watched, fascinated. His
come kept pumping out for much longer than it ever had before, and when
he ran out, I stared as his cock continued to pump and jerk in that tell
tale way it has when he is coming. It took a long time before he wound
down, and longer still before we finished that night, and finally slept.
We have the answer.
July 25th.
We've been experimenting. Jurgen is better, although he is still weak,
and is not ready to work again. He has called in sick and the doctor at
the clinic gave him an explanatory note about "Chronic fatigue syndrome"
or some such mumbo-jumbo.
Never the less, there is now no doubt whatsoever in our minds about his
condition. My husband, through some perverse miracle of fate and physics,
did NOT receive the changes I did, probably due to his being nude, and my
wearing that suit. Instead, he appears to get both tremendous stimulation
and nourishment from my come, my vaginal mucous! Isn't that a hoot?!
In fact, he is _dependent_ on me for his health and stamina! It would be
every girl's dream, if it weren't for the fly in the ointment, more on
that in a moment. What we don't know, of course, is whether the changes
that occurred to my body have changed my secretions into something special
that he can metabolize, or whether _any_ woman would do. We both admit to
being curious, and we are both smart enough to realize it would be foolish
to try to find out.
And of course there is the stimulation aspect. He described it to me in
ways that sounded vaguely like my own secret "affliction", which by the
way, we have discovered, _does_ depend on the suit- we're still not sure
about _that_, but anyway, he said it felt like swallowing heat and light,
and that this warmth spread through his body and caused him to tingle all
over, until his whole body felt like one big penis... sound familiar?
But there's another piece to all this- the other shoe, so to speak. He
isn't getting better fast enough. We have sex as often as we can stand
it, and it's keeping him going, but it isn't enough to get him back to
his old energetic self again. We are casting about for solutions, but
I worry... he can't stay a weakling- the frustration of that is already
wearing on him. I don't know what to do- I think I just need to generate
more "juice".
...to be concluded in Part 6.
Gomez: just another perverse, fetishistic, gothic-identified,
industrial-listening, horror-watching, fiction-reading, leather
and latex-wearing, fire-starting, drug-popping, rave-dancing,
laser-waving mad scientist in the crowd. blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu
Path:
usenet.ucs.indiana.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!uwm.edu!spool.mu.edu!mnemosyne.cs.du.edu
!nyx10.cs.du.edu!not-for-mail
From: blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Gomez)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.fetish.fashion,alt.sex.stories
Subject: STORY: The Accident, part 6 (mf, fetish, bondage)
Date: 19 Dec 1994 21:52:56 -0700
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
Lines: 378
Message-ID: <3d5nv8$p04@nyx10.cs.du.edu>
Summary: last chapter
Xref: usenet.ucs.indiana.edu alt.sex.bondage:7785 alt.sex.fetish.fashion:413
alt.sex.stories:6228
All parts of "The Accident" are (c) 1994,
William A. Lemieux. May be freely distributed by cybernetic
media, provided no fee is charged or profit gained. Hardcopies are
expressly forbidden without prior consent of the author. May not be
published or distributed otherwise without permission.
....... DISCLAIMER, DATCLAIMER, POLICY NOTICE AND DAMAGE WAIVER .........
. .
. While I appreciate the implied (and explicit) compliments, I simply .
. don't have time to accommodate requests for copies, chapters, etc. .
. .
. Any similarity between story characters and actual persons is .
. unintentional and purely coincidental... honest. The same goes for .
. any company names you might THINK you've seen before- pure chance. .
. After all, I would never stoop so low as to shamelessly plug a vendor .
. that I thought was particularly worthy, such as BR Creations, The .
. Stockroom, Remawear, or DeMask- no, that would never do. .
. .
. 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. .
. Criticism on technique (what little there is) and writing style are .
. welcomed by e-mail. Flames will be cheerfully ignored. .
. .
............................. cut here ..................................
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 6
August 2nd.
Since I can go out now during the day without either been struck rigid
or coming unglued, I have been sneaking to the library to look into this
problem of ours. Jurgen bitches and moans about being stuck in bed at
home, but I remind him of what it was like for me, and he is shamed into
silence. I have to wear a long coat, slacks, a wide-brimmed hat, and
sunglasses if it's bright outside, but I manage. A little light still
falls on my face, and it feels very nice of course, but I can ignore it
enough to function.
I found some interesting stuff in the medical stacks though. Hormones.
It seems that some hormones given to women for other purposes were noted
to increase vaginal secretions as a side effect. The only trouble is,
how in hell do we get hormones without a prescription. I'm sure they'd
be awfully curious about why the esteemed (and very male) physicist
wanted female hormones. Sigh.
August 8th.
It seems that many of the simpler female hormones are also given to
animals (human hormones work on animals? Hard to believe, but...). I am
looking into this.
Jurgen is keeping busy by ordering some custom garments and toys for us
from some of our favorite catalogs. He won't tell me what they are, and
his mischief is refreshing to me- at least he's in good spirits,
generally.
August 11th.
Yes, there are human hormones being given to cattle, and yes, I have
managed to score some from a veterinary supply store, although the clerk
there gave me some strange looks. I tried dressing as "hick" as I could,
but I don't think she believe me. I have what appears to be a _huge_
supply, and the shelf life if refrigerated is _years_. I haven't told
Jurgen, he'd flip if he knew I was going to inject myself with hormones
hormones not approved for human use. I've stripped some of the warning
labels off the bottle...
August 17th.
Jurgen is back at work. That about says it all. And I need to go lie
out in the sun- I'm bushed. My hubby wore me out last night, but he also
seems to have had his fill. He went a little nuts, and at one point he
was just grinning up at me, wild-eyed, as he shuddered and quaked on the
bed. He looked like some crazed drug fiend, but he was hale and healthy,
and he proved it several times last night. Wow! We're back in the
saddle again, it seems! The only side effect I've noticed from the
hormones has been a slight tenderness in my breasts- at least, I assume
it's the hormones- I don't have any lumps. It's not painful, but I hope
it goes away. If it doesn't, I'll go in for x-rays. I should add that
while the hormones have increased my secretion a little, it hasn't been
a whole lot. Jurgen had more energy this morning, but he still seemed a
little tired (probably because he spent all his energy wearing ME out
last night, the brute!), but really, it seems as though he gets more
fun and stimulation, than real nutrition or energy from eating me.
August 19th.
The tenderness in my breasts hasn't gone away, in fact if anything, it's
gotten worse, and they have begun to feel a bit swollen and taught. I
went to the clinic this morning, and they took x-rays, but they showed
nothing suspicious or unhealthy. They wanted to do a complete physical,
but I immediately imagined myself the center of a major medical inquiry,
locked in a lab somewhere. I panicked and got out of there as fast as I
could without raising suspicion. I am not sure, but I think they (my
breasts) have grown some, too. I'm relieved, but still concerned. Jurgen
came home pretty tired today, and it was all I could do to hold up my end
in bed. I was still tired (and sore, I admit) from the night before! We
are having sex more often and longer, than we ever did, even when
everything was normal, just to keep him up and going. Despite that, he is
still not back up to full steam.
August 20th.
Dear Diary,
Mystery solved, with happy consequences. I am lactating! Jurgen was
sucking on my nipples last night, and to his surprise, got milk. And
guess what! It seems to be even more energizing (if not nearly so
stimulating) as my come, and he swears it is delicious and better than
cow's milk. I tried some, and was unimpressed- very sweet, though.
The greedy hunk sucked me dry though, and low and behold, the
discomfort disappeared. I guess I know something of what it feels like
to be a mommy now. Oh, and they are quite definitely larger, probably
from all that milk they have to store.
Today, a package arrived in the mail from one of our fetish goods
suppliers, but Jurgen had anticipated it's arrival and forbade me to open
it. He said it wasn't finished, and he would have to work on it before
he would be ready to show it off. I think I know something of what he is
up to. This evening, he took off for work on the excuse that he had left
some important papers at the office. After he left, I noticed the parcel
was missing. Men are so transparent.
When he got back, he finally revealed what he had done. He had had two
pairs of custom "adoration breeches" made- those rubber pants with a hood
attached at the crotch, so someone can be "forced" to service you orally.
These were mutually useful, in that the helmet was attached upside-down,
so that two people could be wearing _each_other's_ breeches! They are
made of very heavy rubber, and have plenty of breathing holes around the
crotch and nose. Plus, he took one of his own suits to work and exposed
it to the same program. We tested these toys out and they all work in
exactly the same fashion as my suit used to.
Speaking of that suit, he has finished putting in the new zipper, which
is small but strong, and air-tight- it's made for diver's "dry suits".
He will expose the suit tomorrow during lunch. He is getting quite
brazen, I think, but he seems worried about getting access to the
machine- apparently the higher-ups are tightening security. Seems
asinine to me, after all, he invented the thing!
I can't wait to try these new things of his this weekend!
Anyway, I'm very happy to see him rosy-cheeked and brimming over with
energy.
August 23rd
Dear Diary. It is Sunday, a day of rest for both Christians and my
husband and I. It is also a day to reflect on bad news, and our very good
luck. Friday, Jurgen took my suit and a whole pile of other things into
work in that huge briefcase of his. He got them modified all right,
and back into his case, but he also got caught by one of the new managers
who demanded to know what he was doing in that part of the lab.
My dear retorted, rather hotly of course, that he had developed that
machine, and he had more right to be there than the paper pusher did.
That was when the general walked in. That's right, general, as in Army
officer. It seems that some word had gotten out, the military had got
wind of his little invention, and the place was crawling with military
spook-types. They were sewing the project up tight as fast as they could.
He barely made it off the site with the goodies without getting his bags
inspected, but the guards are just rent-a-cops so far, and they aren't
used to the new procedures they are supposed to be following. In other
words, he got lucky.
Jurgen has already protested bitterly about the militarization of the
project and the lab, but I think he realizes it was only a matter of time.
He has threatened to quit his job, which means retirement really, which
I wouldn't mind one bit, but I don't think they are taking him seriously.
I know better- I saw the expression on his face while he was yelling at
the senior lab manager on the phone Friday night.
Anyway, we spent a delightful day lying in the sun yesterday. Sounds so
peaceful and innocent, doesn't it? Hee-hee! Of course, what really
happened was much more prurient, and if the truth be told, quite out of
the realm of everyday human sensuality. I think most people would have
considered it a religious experience. What we shared yesterday, the
places we reached inside each other, cannot be expressed in words. I'll
explain it in physical terms though, just to get the hot little details
down between your steaming pages.
As I wrote here before, Jurgen had made (or rather, had ordered) those
two pairs of adoration pants from Remma-wear, and had modified his own
suit with the DSM to be just like mine. We experimented with it some on
Friday night, during a little stress-relief session of love making. His
suit is just like mine used to be, neck-entry, which can be used with
different hoods. Naturally, he exposed several hoods and the suit
separately, so we wouldn't wind up with the material flowing together
like mine did. I wonder how... oh, never mind.
In any case, I picked up two breast pumps, those things nursing mothers
sometimes use, and Jurgen has made a bizarre "milking machine" brassiere
out of them. They are built into an old heavy-gauge rubber brassier of
mine, with the original cups removed. He's attached hoses to each one,
which go to a small suction pump and some kind of valve that pulses the
suction. The thing felt weird yet wonderful at first, and seemed to make
my breasts swell up even more, but once the milk started flowing, it was
a great relief- now I can milk myself and save it for him for later.
Which is precisely what I had done Friday night- saved a whole pitcher of
milk. Jurgen has always been the top in our relationship, which is fine
with me, but he agreed to let me put him in his "rigidized" suit, just to
see what it was like. (We found out, a little to his chagrin, that light
falling on the suit doesn't do a thing for him, as mine does for me, but
that's small loss considering what he _does_ have that I don't.)
So anyway, I had a brainstorm, and fetched the milk. Not only did I pour
it into the suit with him, letting him squirm around in it for a while,
but I hooked up an enema bag and hose, ran it into his helmet in place of
the breathing tube, and "force fed" him his dinner. He loved it! From the
noises he was making, I'm sure he would have been thrashing around if it
hadn't been for the solid restraint of his suit. Later, he told me that
even having the milk against his skin had felt wonderful, with powerful
tingling sensations and flashes of sexual warmth coming from his skin, as
if he was absorbing it without even swallowing it. Well who knows, maybe
he is. He said he came for what felt like minutes.
The breast size thing is starting to bug me, however. When I milked
myself yesterday, I gave more milk than I ever have before and yet
looking in the mirror afterwards, I realized my tits were bigger _still_,
even though I had drained them completely. I have already reduced the
hormone dosage, because I'm quite happy with them the way they are. Of
course, Jurgen, being somewhat of a breast fetishist, is tickled pink.
So anyway, I haven't described Saturday yet, our big day of decadence.
We had planned it all the night before, lying in bed and talking after our
little session Friday. We got up early, just before dawn in fact, and
made our preparations. We took a big air mattress that we used to keep
around for guests out onto the back lawn, laid blankets out and so forth,
and then got dressed. We each put on our special suits, and one pair of
the adoration breeches, and went outside to await the sunrise.
As the sky grew lighter, I grew lighter-headed, and before the sun was
even up, it was becoming very difficult to concentrate on the job at hand,
and both our suits were becoming slightly stiff. We moved fast. I lay
on my back on the mattress, while Jurgen crawled on top and astride me,
then we each struggled into the helmet of the other's adoration pants.
We moved around a bit, getting comfortable, each of us with the other's
sex in our mouth, while the sky grew lighter and the suits and pants got
stiffer. In minutes, we were trapped, the rubber turned rigid, and as
the first rays of the direct sun fell on me, I completely forgot what I
had filling my mouth. I was in ecstasy again. Of course, as part of
that, I lubricated freely, and Jurgen slurped it up greedily, his groans
and moans reaching me faintly through the layers of rubber and my own
personal haze of pleasure. At some point, I remember felating him in a
distracted sort of way, and I know we both came many, many times that day,
some of those times seeming to blur into one long, continuous, and
simultaneous orgasm for both of us. We must have made one very bizarre
looking piece of lawn sculpture, had anyone been able to see us.
By the time we could move again, as the last shreds of daylight fled from
our lawn, we were both physical and emotional wrecks- very happy, sated,
but utterly drained and exhausted.
Which delightful state we are still in today. A deep lassitude and happy
paralysis having taken us, we are lazing around in bed, not really wanting
to do anything at all. Jurgen is sketching, toying with some new ideas
for bondage gear, although it seems obvious that we will no longer have
access to the DSM, while I am writing in your cherished pages. My eyes
are getting heavy again though, so I think I shall close for today. Right
now, I feel like napping.
September 19th.
Well now. I seem to have a dilemma. My breasts have continued to
develop at an alarming rate, considering how few days have passed. I have
gone from a D cup to a DDD in less than a month. I'm not sure if that
would normally be possible, even with the hormones, but of course, I no
longer have what anyone would call a normal physiology. I have had to
change bra sizes twice in thirty days, and while the cost is no problem
for us, I'm wondering where it will all stop! It is good that so much of
my kinky wardrobe is made from latex, which has tremendous stretch, since
I am busting out of many of my leather outfits. I have reduced the
hormone dosage even further, and Jurgen has begun to complain that I'm not
secreting enough for him, but I don't know what to do. I can't just keep
getting larger, can I?
PS: Jurgen quit his job at the lab. We are now the youngest retired
couple I know of, and very happy at that. They seem to have wanted to buy
his silence, since they offered him a _huge_ "bonus" for his work on the
machine. He was going to refuse, out of anger and pride, but I talked
some sense into him, pointing out that we could retire quite comfortably
on that amount alone, and that having it on top of his handsome retirement
income would make life very comfortable indeed.
September 29th.
Ten days, and another cup size. This is getting ridiculous. I'm huge!
I haven't gained any weight any where else, even though that is a common
side effect of these hormones, according to the books. My breasts are now
the size of honeydew melons, and my chest is some 50 inches around. I
can't find any brassieres in town that are large enough. Fortunately, one
of the foundation shops gave me the address and phone number of a company
that hand makes odd and extra large sizes, but when I called them, their
prices were so high, Jurgen commented that I might as well just have
custom made rubber and leather bras made. I think I'll do both- after
all, I can go out again now, (although we are still debating how to handle
my reappearance) and I'd like to have some normal bras as well, since
wearing fetish clothes all the time takes away from their spice- one gets
used to them.
It is good that Jurgen bought the larger size of breast pumps (which he
made into my "milking machine") because I am nearly filling them now.
October 8th.
No noticeable change in breast size this week. I am keeping my fingers
crossed. Jurgen is having to make do with less from my sex, but he gets
more real nourishment from my milk anyway. As my bust size has grown, it
has become more and more pleasurable to be milked, to the point that I
nearly go out of my head with arousal and lust during the procedure- I
came just from having my breasts pumped today! What's worse (or better,
depending on how you look at it) is that my milk production seems to have
gone up proportionately to my bust size, so that I now need milking at
least twice a day. I feel like a dairy cow! Jurgen is delighted with my
new figure (he _would_ be) and I admit, I am getting used to it, although
I still feel like a freak of nature. I have kept the rest of me in shape
though, and when corsetted, I cut a very imposing, if somewhat
unbelievable figure!
We have decided to announce to friends and family that we are getting
back together, that the "divorce" was all a horrible mistake, and that my
ridiculous breast enlargement is the result of a rare hormonal disorder.
I hope they buy it. If not, they can just wonder, because they'll never
hear the truth from us!
My sweet heart finally got around to showing off some of the other items
he had "treated" with the DSM before they shut him out of the lab. The
most striking was the clear rubber suit. He had made one of my regular
suits crystal clear, just like that sample he had done. It's weird and
eerie- when I wear it, it looks like I've been coated with glass. We both
love the look.
Another interesting pair are the gloves and stockings. Remember that
inverted form of the light-sensitive rubber he came up with? He
dialed that in and treated a pair of my thicker gloves, and a pair of old
but heavy gauge stockings. He also treated a thick rubber leotard with
the other program. So if I wear them, I can move my arms and legs when
the light is on, but my torso is held rigid. When the light goes out,
they turn rigid, and my torso is free to bend.
This morning he had me put my suit on, put one stocking on my right leg,
and one glove on the left arm, then commanded me to make brunch. But the
fiend had turned all the lights in the house topsy-turvy, with one room
dark, blinds drawn, and the next brightly lit. Imagine trying to walk
around like that, when one leg and one arm is stuck in one position for a
while, and moments later, they are free and the others are stuck! The
kitchen was worse (and even more comical to watch I am sure) since we
have track lighting there, and he had turned them in all different
directions, but had taken the bulbs out of the main area lights.
Needless to say, I was hot, tired and frustrated by the time the food was
ready, but the dear rewarded me nicely this afternoon however, so I have
forgiven him.
November 11th.
We have decided to move. Jurgen is afraid we will both find ourselves
in hot water, if the truth is ever discovered about the changes he has
wrought in our physiologies. The house is on the market, and as soon as
it is sold, we are moving to Amsterdam. Life has gotten awfully busy as
a result, so this may be the last entry in a long while.
fini
Gomez: one of the few, the proud, the certifiable, who brought
you Boulder's Haunted Warehouse. blemieux@nyx10.cs.du.edu
"Has anyone seen the black duct tape?" "I think it's in the acid pit."
"Some guy is out frightening people in line." "Oh, he's with us."