("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Clare By Autolycus (address withheld) *** An affulent middle-aged man sets off to investigate noises from an adjoining property that he knows to be empty. There he finds someone who is his match in depravity and is prepared to go all the way. A tale of how experienced people can create the wildest heights of pleasure and pain. (MF, tg, ws, scat) *** I was – as usual – in my own in the house, doing my own thing and scratching my own back, a state that was not unpleasant to me. Although just turned fifty and retired with an excellent golden handshake, I never had any particular notion of age, fancying myself about forty and realising that I still had a lot of living to do. An old problem caused by poor circulation had been attended to, and I had to make up for all those collapsed erections: during the surgery I even had a couple of inches added to my member, my revitalised body being quite capable of supporting the extension. Since that current state had been with me for only a few months, I was still consorting with ladies of the night, casual acquaintances and my trusty computer. More and more, however, I was contemplating how I could utilise the curious additions that I had bought with the house. It was during such a session of downloading that I became aware of noises seeming to emanate from the next door...which was surprising since the occupant was on an extended holiday to New Zealand. And this at one o'clock in the morning. I checked the back of the house – the house was one part of a secluded semi - and found the lights on, and found the same at the front. Sally must be back and, since there was obviously activity, I rang the bell to offer any help she might require. She was, after all, easy on the eye. The strange woman who answered my call was not Sally, although there was a facial resemblance, and I remembered that Sally had warned me that a relative would be 'house watching' during her absence. We made our introductions and she asked me if I could oblige her with a cigarette. 'Only roll-ups, I'm afraid,' I offered. 'Would you like me to make you a couple? They're a bit strong.' 'Oh, no problem, I can roll my own,' she boasted enthusiastically, and I realised that she was certainly merry, if not drunk. Excusing myself for a moment, I hurried back home and procured a fresh pack of tobacco and some skins. She was most grateful and invited me to join her for a drink and/or a coffee. I wasn't in the least tired and it seemed to be a pleasant way to spend an hour so I accepted her offer with alacrity. Settled on the sofa with a generous glass of deep red Lambrusco in my hand, we talked. Her name was Clare and she normally lived some thirty miles away, sharing her home with her children – although since both were at university the sharing was done at weekends and vacations. Hence she could undertake her current duties. The conversation was animated and, driven by the booze, somewhat open. Clare had poured the wine before settling herself at the other end of that sofa, and then she set about making a cigarette. The conversation had distracted her, however, and I watched her go through the actions of making a joint before she realised what she had done. To take the sting out of the situation I waited until just the right moment before offering her my stash. 'Perhaps you'll need this now,' I said, with a grin. 'Well, thank you, kind sir,' she replied with an appreciative smile, 'I quite forgot myself there. Too much booze.' She finished making a joint and then lit it, starting on a pointless and convoluted story about some of her relatives. Her gestures, as one would imagine, were boozy loose and I let the story wash over my head while I studied the woman. I estimated Clare's age well on the wrong side of forty, her years written into her face, the back of her hands, and her legs, given to ropey tendons and hard muscle. She had a school-marmish plumpness – all boobs and buttocks - but was tall enough to carry it graciously. Other than that she was unremarkably pretty and even wore spectacles, narrow ones that added to the no-nonsense look. She moved all the time, continually crossing and uncrossing her legs or tugging at her clothes; something was making her hyperactive and I started to wonder if this Clare woman was fancying a frolic. I certainly wouldn't have objected...and there was an attractive hardness about her face that suggested that she carried some experience. I directed my conversation accordingly, using the fact that a cable program was running on the television. The picture resolved itself into a torrid embrace and I used that on my cue. 'Strong stuff on these new channels,' I ventured. 'One hardly needs to have rude videos any more.' 'Oh, I know!' she gushed. 'No wonder the kids of today know so much. I've actually got an eighty centimetre dish at home, so that I can track European stations. That's fun, at the right time.' 'So I've heard,' I replied, 'And the installer won't put them up in the front garden. I wonder why? I prefer to search the net myself.' 'Is that worth while? All I ever get – or Sally, for that matter, can get - isn't up to much.' 'You're looking in wrong places,' I whispered secretively. The wine and the smoke had already loosened my tongue. 'There's lots and lots to be had, mainly for free, and covering every depravity and perversion you could – or couldn't – imagine.' Clare was all ears and eyes. 'And I suppose that you put this to full use?' I shrugged depreciatingly. 'I've got three and a half Gig that I've downloaded and stored.' 'I don't really understand those terms,' she replied, 'What's that in pictures?' 'About sixty thousand photos, drawings, cartoons and stories.' I boasted. 'I've even got a selection of video clips.' Clare was suitably impressed. At one point I had uncrossed my legs – being a great believer in body language and thereby offering myself to her – and was surprised to see her respond: with one leg drawn up under her body and the other moving all the time, she was definitely responding. I was getting some fine views of her stockinged thighs and – occasionally – a glimpse of her undies. This was developing well. 'Sixty thousand pictures of what?' she pressed me. 'That number of screwing couples would be boring.' 'True,' I agreed. I liked her bluntness. 'That's why I have a huge variety; my tastes are very cosmopolitan.' 'They must be!' Clare hooted. 'So? Like what? Do tell.' That presented me with a bit of a problem. The conversation was acquiring direction: the next few minutes might swing it one was or the other, and I found myself curiously attracted to the lady at the other end of the sofa. The more I studied her face, the more I watched her almost lewdly loose body language, the more certain I was that Clare was a force to be reckoned with. I fenced. 'That depends,' I said. 'On what?' 'On how cosmopolitan your tastes are.' Clare's response to this was a fit of coughing, brought on by her trying to laugh and exhale cannabis smoke at the same time: it took a good quarter-bottle of Lambrusco to help her regain her composure...and her breath. 'What was that again?' I asked innocently, fending off the cushion flung at me with some force. 'What I was trying to say,' she said in a squeaky voice, 'Was “been there, done that, and got the T- shirt”!' 'Sez you.' 'Sez me!' she insisted. She cupped her ample breasts and weighed them, almost offering them to me before smoothing the rest of her clothes into place. Clare didn't have a bad body for her age: I had a vision of a soft, cuddly body with lots of tits and ass, and felt my own sex twitch a response. Clare continued, 'I've never been married. Know that? There have always been other things that interested me where the presence of a permanent attachment would have been... well... inconvenient. I've played the field, Mister, and you'll find that I'm familiar with at least some of your bizarre collection. So, tell.' 'Very well, here's a very broad index of my collection.' I ran through the ten major headings into which I placed my various downloads – Toon Sets through to video clips by way of Big Babies, watersports, shemales, rubber, and BDSM. Although I used several abbreviations, Clare never asked for fuller meanings, repeated each word after me and filling out those abbreviations where necessary. She made it sound like a litany. 'Those are only my main listings, of course; the sub-divisions are legion.' 'Sixty thousand!' she whispered, and then 'I don't believe you.' 'You'd best come and see for yourself, then,' I retorted and, more seriously, 'But don't say I didn't warn you. I don't want you telling people that I'm taking advantage of you, or forcing you to watch something that offends. Any problems with that?' 'Do you want an application in my own hand? If I don't like it, I'll pass over it. I'm more likely to insist that you show me how to collect my own sixty thousand pictures. Did you say 'stories' as well?' 'A couple of hundred, all subjects, some I've downloaded, some are all my own work.' 'There's a link already,' Clare crowed. 'You can read my stories, illustrated in my own fair hand. Now, am I coming through to your house?' 'Since that where my computer lives, it might not be a bad idea. Coming?' 'Later.' Her smile was definitely encouraging. 'Give me fifteen minutes to titivate myself and I'll be knocking on your door. A gal's got to look her best when she's invited out.' I stood up, pointedly ignoring the obvious lump in the leg of my trousers but aware that Clare's eyes were fixed on it. I made my way to her front door. 'See you later, then' I said, by way of parting and then, almost as though I was challenging her, 'Don't go to the loo. If you're as experienced as you say you are, we might need it.' 'I had no intention of and you neither,' she smirked as the door closed behind me. Given that a woman always takes twice as long as she promised, I didn't expect her within half an hour and that I put to good use by tidying my own place, setting up a viewing area around my computer, and making a few minor changes to my costume. I always wore panties – at least, usually more – under my slacks (my erection in Clare's had been caressed by a pair of soft, silky panties) and I changed them for a fresh pair of cool pink rubber knicks and a matching slip and, as an afterthought, added a pair of black, self-supporting latex stockings. Replacing my slacks and silken shirt, I realised that I had a curious feeling about this meeting with Clare. I decided to let her see my 'A' folders, a hodge-podge of my most recent downloads, and they contained bits of everything. I'd soon find out if this woman was as experienced as she thought. I moved two office chairs in front of the monitor, created a 'Welcome' frame, and left it standing in readiness. I settled a bottle of wine, filtre coffee, a couple of joints and a couple of lines of coke on my desk and sat back, adding odd pictures – mostly of myself as Penelope – from their proper locations to the 'A' folders until I heard the discreet tap on my front door. Clare had a heavy overcoat wrapped around her, but when she discarded it I could see that she, too, had sensed the mood and dressed to suit. Gone was the rather dowdy dress that she had been wearing earlier; in its place was a plain fronted silken blouse that did wonders for her loose, ample breasts, and a short flared skirt a la schoolgirl. Stockings and shoes had changed as well – and Clare was very much the femme fatal. She was also carrying a further supply of wine and, stuffed under her arm, a fat brown envelope. The glasses were gone, too, either replaced by contact lenses or not required. 'There's wine upstairs,' I said, 'Coffee, coke and smoke as well. Since my computer's up there, shall we proceed? After you!' And I had the pleasure of watching her plump bottom weave a sensuous dance about six inches from my nose. My late Victorian house, my new late Victorian house, was designed for a large family (and servants) so I had plenty of room. The master bedroom was the place where I slept and entertained my visiting whores and she- males. A little remodelling had given that room an entrance into the bathroom and loo and further remodelling had made the two rooms on the 'bathroom' side of the landing into one. The other room on the opposite side of the stair well served as my workroom - and the wall that separated the two rooms at that end of the house had been stripped out and was currently separated by a black rubber curtain and, of necessity, a partition to conceal the curtain. Behind that rubber curtain was my pride and joy, my Temple to Depravity. In joining the spare rooms on the first floor I had given myself an area of about thirty feet by twenty- five. A part of this was taken up with the two part loo – one refined and suitable for guests being entertained in the master bedroom, the other part open to the Play area and providing such exotics as Skye toilets, showers and the like. In the far corner, diametrically opposite to my study, was a small dining space and, next to it, the relaxing room that would serve as a cinema when necessary... or a stage. There were several items in the extended room, like an old fashioned hospital bed, most unusually a double sized one, with it's mattress sealed in a plastic sack and covered in turn with a red rubber sheet and several matching pillows. It's metal ends were provided with a variety of means of restraint, and the sides of the bed could be drawn up to form a cot. Elsewhere in the elongated room were the Skye toilets– one home-made, rather well made, I thought – with it's transparent rubber head- encompassing bowl, a bondage chair, and a sturdy rubber-covered table that had more attachments for restraint and other inconveniences. I had been planning this Temple for over two years – ever since I had heard of my impending retirement – and had kept an eye open for those obscure auctions where all manner of strange things turned up. That was where I found the bed and, subsequently, the '40s dental chair and an even older gynaecological examination table – all wheels, pulleys and restraints. And there was room for a rows of garment racks, with shelves and chests of drawers set amongst them to contain other items. All other surfaces, when not taken up with storage space or mirrors, were draped in sheets of black rubber. Finally, the partitions between all these 'rooms' were rubber curtains that were hung close to the ceiling and trailed on the floor. The whole area was illuminated by lights set into the ceiling and corners, and all connected to a control panel set near the entrance. Whilst waiting for Clare I had set them to give sufficient light to see by. I had forgotten, however, to replaced the partition as had been my intention. I hadn't planned to show Clare my Temple to Depravity, not at least until much later, but that sassy lady laid the wine and package on my work table and turned to give the curtains a closer examination. Of course, she immediately found the split in the curtains and peeped through. It was a long peep, and when she drew the curtains shut and turned to face me her eyes were wide, sparkling, and her mouth made a silent 'O'. 'Sorry,' I apologised, falsely, 'I didn't want you to look behind there.' Clare stood close, and made great sigh. 'Do you realise that my – Sally's - bed butts directly onto that wall? That... all... everything that I've seen was only a couple of bricks away?' She shook her head. 'What a waste.' She sighed again. 'Better that we've made the discovery now, rather than not at all,' I offered, and told her the story about my dope-less neighbours in a far-off bedsit. She laughed. 'What about some refreshment?' I suggested, 'And stimulation. Then we can proceed to my cine bleu.' 'This is very kind of you,' Clare complimented me, sniffling the after effects of a nostril of coke. She stretched languidly as another effect took her. 'Wheeee!' she exclaimed, 'Good gear!' 'I have a friend...' 'Haven't we all, dearie.' Clare replied in a husky voice. My own heart was thumping furiously and all my senses tingled. Clare stood no more than arm's length away from me, her scarlet lips parted and her tongue flicking over them, her colour high and her breathing rapid. I don't think either of us initiated the action... ut suddenly we were locked in a tight embrace, our mouths devouring, tongues raping, and hands sweeping over each other's bodies. Fired by the booze and the drugs, the embrace was wild, an embrace of two people who were old enough to know what they were about. I was conscious of the pressure of her heavy breasts against me, her nipples soft daggers on my chest, her hips frottaging my erection as I cupped and squeezed her buttocks ...and held her close. And it went on and on: it seemed as though our bodies became a melded whole. By mutual consent we broke off, due to near suffocation. 'Whee!' Clare carolled, gasping for breath, 'That was some snog. Made me feel like I was twenty again.' 'So?' I replied. 'You felt to me like you were about eighteen, actually. Sex, the eternal youth drug.' 'Thank you again, kind Sir,' Clare made me a curtsey. 'Ah... peaking of drugs...' and she looked pointedly at the joints awaiting our attentions. I lit one, drew deeply on it, and passed it to her. I also poured a large glass of wine and placed beside of the monitor, motioning her towards one of the office seats. When she was sitting comfortably I pushed the keyboard in front of her. The monitor showed the 'Welcome' frame. 'What do I do now?' Clare asked, pretending to be all agog. 'You make it go,' I explained. 'Every time you press the space bar, the picture changes. To go back you press Page Up, and if you come across something you don't like just flick past it.' 'Okay,' she replied eagerly. 'I bought something for you to look at in case you didn't want to watch with me.' She paused and gave me an arch look. 'I'd rather you stayed, though,' she giggled and her hand found mine, 'To explain the bits I can't understand and... well... keep me company.' 'You've got it, kid,' I said, drawing up my chair. 'Start the ball rolling. I'll look forward to reading your stories another time.' Her fingers touched the space bar. As it happened, the first ten or twelve downloads were of the 'Pornotopia' range, artwork monsters and aliens performing with human females. I saw that Clare was totally engrossed in each picture and, in fact, I spent most of the time watching her face. That was most revealing, her eyes riveted on the screen, her lips parted, and that active pink tongue flicking across them. Some scenes made her eyes widen, and sometimes they grew wider still as she puzzled out some particular bizarrity. But she didn't miss one photo or drawing. The next few items came from DeMask, all rubbery with tubes and bonds. These slowed her down even more, each frame accompanied by a little exclamation from Clare. The joint over, I stood up – allegedly to collect as ashtray – and positioned myself directly behind her. She supped deep from her glass and then allowed her free hand to fall into her lap where it pressed her skirt up between her parted thighs. Clare was masturbating, and at that point I felt that I should assist her. After laying my hands on her shoulders, by way of reassurance, I slid them down until I held her breasts, all slippery from her silky blouse. She gave a pleasurable little cry and thrust them further into my hands. The screen showed a couple of my own drawings followed by several she-male shots – these were the ones that Clare actually coo-ed over – with a couple of myself to finish them off. That earned a happy grin from her – I hadn't made any particular effort to disguise myself – and she clicked her way through about eighty pictures. It took a good hour. Never once did she hurry past an image or set; every one was given Clare's best attentions. She leaned against the back of the chair, stretching and entwining her arms around my neck, drawing my head down for another frenetic kiss. She arched her neck and frottagιd my erection with the back of her head. She patted the chair beside her and ordered that I resume my seat. Sliding my arm around her shoulders I cupped her breasts again, rolling her engorged nipples between my fingers and then pinching them until she squealed. During the show Clare had ceased to make any attempt to conceal her busy hand, by this time parting her legs to give her hand better access her sex. For a few moments her hand rested on my thigh and then it grasped my prick. Enjoying another passionate kiss, I freed one hand to slide it under her skirt - and made a startling discovery. Clare was wearing rubber knickers. 'Now do you see why I was so impressed with the other half of this room?” she whispered huskily. She managed to refill our glasses without disturbing the position of my hands. 'Can I light the other reefer?' 'Sure.' I said. 'Taking a break?' 'Mmmmm, sort of. You can get too much of a good thing.' She gave me a wicked grin. 'Even the best of things. How many have I watched so far?' I glanced at the counter. 'Eighty-two, so the clock says.' 'Out of?' 'About two hundred and forty, They're one of my downloads that I haven't got round to sorting yet. Do you believe my claim of sixty thousand now?' She gave me a charming smile. 'I didn't really doubt you, I wanted to believe you,' she admitted, 'But I've had lots of experiences where I've been promised a lot and come away disappointed.' 'Me, too.' I sighed. 'About one in a hundred was worth the journey.' 'Enough gloom!' she declared theatrically, the effect spoilt by her bursting into laughter part way through. 'At least, on this one night, we've found something extraordinary. Let's not waste a moment of it.' Clare's laughter was infectious, and served well to break down any reservations that were still left between us. 'Oh, true,' I replied, 'Not one solitary minute.' I drew her attention back to the monitor. 'Does Madame wish to proceed?' For an answer Clare grabbed another passionate kiss: she was really good at kissing. 'Later, maybe,' she said huskily, sipping her wine and then gazing at me over her shoulder. 'How many more do I have to watch before I get invited through the curtains there?' She indicated the rubber curtains that separated the room' 'I think you've already earned your pass,' I said. I had stopped mauling her breasts, employing both hands along the gusset of her knicks. I was kneeling by this time, making things much easier all round. Clare seemed to be a very lubricious woman: she had a positive pool of juice that slithered the rubber over her sex. I even dared a deeper thrust that brought my finger against her asshole. There were no objections, only a little cry from the base of her throat. It occurred to me that some of the fluid feel of her breasts might be due to a rubber bra. I continued, 'For now I suggest a substantial supper, washed down with lots of liquid, while we talk about old times.' She moved slightly and then ran the tip of her fingers along the length the bulge that my erection was making in my trousers: the bulge welcomed her. 'Perhaps a change into more comfortable clothes might be helpful, too.' I added. 'Suits me,' Clare murmured, 'Anything suits me at the moment,' 'Blessings heaped on blessings, then,' I exclaimed. I pushed my luck. 'And will Madame need to go back next door for her more comfortable attire?...or can I perhaps provide something from my own wardrobe? I've notice that we're about the same size...and rubber is a very forgiving fabric.' 'We are about the same size, aren't we,' Clare giggled, 'And I noticed that that applies to your feminine clothes as well. We make a splendid pair – foursome – of 38Ds. Okay, Madame's quite happy to wear your rubber clothes...and anything else that you might feel appropriate now - or later. Go and make a supper, lay out these relaxing clothes of yours, and set up next door for visitors. Meanwhile, I'll stay here and explore some more of this fascinating collection.' I moved my chair back to the wall, moving Clare's into the centre of the screen, and showed her how to select any of my folders and subfolders by name, Clare was obviously far more familiar with computers than the earlier exchange had suggested, and made my exit... leaving the door open behind me. There was a strangeness about the night. It occurred to me that this was a very loose arrangement. Neither of us had discussed our preferences, tastes or limits – and yet it was shaping into a wonderful – if messy - session. I didn't object to that, but did Clare know what she was letting herself in for? The pictures that she had seen so far that evening had all been fetish- orientated, the ones that she was 'Coo-ing' over while I prepared supper were certainly as depraved as I could produce; most of them were of me anyway – on my own or with others – and they left nothing to the imagination. If Clare didn't object to them, then we were kindred spirits. When I left my 'office' I had picked up the envelope that she had brought with her: it bore some photographs, and an A4 spiral notebook. The first photo showed Clare, in bondage, kneeling behind another woman and slobbering over a fat turd jutting out of her asshole. The others – some twenty in all – revealed Clare either giving or receiving bondage, humiliation, or indulging in the wildest depravities. Then there was the notebook in which she recorded her thoughts and ideas, reports of singularly exciting activities, and all illustrated with (presumably) her own drawings. The pics were clear, the colour good, and her notebook was written in a neat and precise hand. Her drawings, too, were excellent. That answered just about any questions I might have had, and I continued with my preparations. I laid out the table in the snuggery, even making use of some 'romantic' candles that I had purchased through the Net. The web page described them as 'aphrodisiac' due to the 'subtle aromas' mixed in the wax...and I had to admit that the aromas were the nearest thing to the smell of cunt juices that I had ever smelt; it would be interesting to see Clare's reaction. Then came the choice of costumes. For Clare I chose a simple white rubber tunic, tightly banded about her neck and with a hem that would almost reach her knees. Another broad, tight band about her waist would hold the material taut across her breasts and provide extra anchorage for her rubber knickers. The red rubber gloves-cum-sleeves would be like a second skin over her arms until they melded with the short bouffant sleeves – the only decoration. There were a few additions to the girl's outfit, of course, like black latex stockings that would eventually cover the curious shaped legs of the white rubber knickers. The knicks had a rubber glove built into the gusset with the opening shaped like the external genitals of a woman set slightly forward of the real thing: since the crutch was loose, a hand inserted into the glove gave finger access to every part of the wearer's sex. These, of course, she would not see until later. She would have to come out of the bondage sleeve, of course ...but I had other ideas in mind. After all, there was the matter of feeding Clare, if she wanted that particular depravity. For a moment I paused and wondered as to the wisdom of what was happening. In a little over an hour I had met a complete stranger, a woman to boot, who was currently viewing my pornographic collection, who had returned my embraces and caresses with a passion that many couples long married would have envied, and with whom I was about to engage in several hours of filthy, depraved sex. And all this on the briefest of exchanges about not going to the loo. Such occasions could only happen in fantasy, I reasoned, as in one of my own stories. And yet that hour had happened, and I could hear Clare's comments, her little cries of surprise and delight and - I hoped – appreciation, as she flicked through the 'pages' of my bizarrity. Maybe I had gone mad, instantaneously, or slipped into another dimension. But I hadn't and, as Clara had put it, we had found this one night and we should put it to good use. If it's nature reminded me of one of my own fantasies, then a Fantasie I would act out; it would be interesting to see at what point Clare called 'Stop! Enough!'...if she did. With that in mind I turned my attention to my own costume, determined to give Clara a show to remember. I peeped in at Clare and was surprised that she was reading a story, one of mine. (No, I didn't have telescopic vision: different typeface.) She seemed engrossed in it, however, her head craned forward to the monitor and her hips rolling from side to side on the chair and her free hand was busy between her legs. Since she would be busy for the next few minutes I collected such garments that I wanted to wear and made my way to the bedroom. Once there I had access to my vanity table. I stripped off all my clothes, reflecting on how – only about an hour ago - I had tempted fate by donning a pair of rubber panties, and powdered myself all over. Fine black rubber stockings came first, self supporting with the garters drawn well up my thighs, and then a matching corset made of more substantial rubber. I had brought my 'falsies' with me but the mood of the thing demanded another filling. In a little closet that provided me with my morning toiletries was a wash basin, and in that wash basin several filled sheaths lay warming in water. This was no surprise: I had already planned for a little solitary treat before meeting Clare and it would be a shame to waste all those lovely filled sheaths. It took four sheaths to fill each cup – warm, squidgy sheaths that contained either my shit or my piss, or a mixture of both – and, because there were nipple holes in the cups of my corset bra, I slipped a couple of the teats through each hole; the pressure behind them gave me prominent nipples. It also left two sheaths lying in the bowl and I suddenly knew where they were destined for. That idea was even worth a gleeful chuckle. I considered my red rubber knicks. I didn't don them at that point, that would come later, after some other preparations. I took up my robe and let it slither down my body, wriggling my hands into the attached gloves and easing the broad band that enclosed my neck into place. I smoothed the gloves until they were literally a second skin. They were red, as was the neckband, but the rest of the gown was matt black rubber, gathered around my waist to emphasise my breasts and then falling gracefully to the floor. The sleeves draped wide on my arms until they were gathered into the four inch cuffs on my gloves. It also had a long flowing hood that either graced my shoulders or could be worn, magically menacing, over my head. My T-bar black heels on, I twirled and posed at my cheval glass, hood up and down, and I was not disappointed. Of course, there was that proturbance. Well, nobody's perfect... I glanced at the clock: fifteen minutes had passed...and I was sure Clare wouldn't have noticed them pass. Another five minutes would finish the job, and I sat at my vanity table. I was quite an accomplished hand at war paint. The right base to suit the wig I had in mind, a deft hand with the lipstick and eyeliner, a touch of mascara, and Penelope was looking at me out of the mirror. I blew myself a kiss and eased the wig into place, it's rubber backing making a fast fix to my bald skull. The neighbours might pity the old guy who'd lost all his hair: little did they know that there wasn't a hair on my body, that I'd been depilated years before to suit my flame of the time. The wig was a dark auburn, cut short until it was almost butch, perfect for the evening. I walked through the bathroom, enjoying the cool caress of the rubber gown against my erection and then, just before I drew the rubber curtains, I changed the lighting to feature the bed and the 'work table', and drew my hood forward until my face would be almost invisible. Only then did I draw the rubber curtain open about three feet, standing in the gap. 'Your presence is required, Madam,' I intoned, all Sister Efficiency, 'For treatment.' Clare jumped right out of the seat, spinning round towards me, her face scarlet. 'Shit, Donald, you scared... Donald...? Donald...?' Great! She didn't recognise me. I threw back my hood and stepped into my 'office', much amused by Clare's wide-eyed and gaping astonishment. 'Donald?' she asked again. This was getting repetitive. 'I'm sorry, Madam,' I smirked, 'Donald's been unexpected called away. He's asked me to continue your treatment. My name's Penelope.' I stepped back and beckoned her. 'Now, if you've like to come this way I can prepare you for supper.' 'I think I've just lost it,' she muttered to herself, still apparently shocked. 'Too much sex and drugs and rock-and-roll,' and then, with a carolle of delight, she threw herself into my arms. 'Fucking hell, Penelope, you sure know how to turn a girl on!' While I held her in a loose embrace, her skirt followed her blouse, followed – after a bit of a struggle - by her nylons. Once her feet were back inside here high heeled shoes, Clare made the embrace anything but loose as she moulded her plump body against mine, savouring the rubber and fondling my prick. She tugged at the material, pressing it to her lips and making little mewing sounds of pleasure. Her hand crept up to my breasts and fondled them, examining them at the same time. 'Interesting,' she mused, leaning back into my arms, still examining my breasts. 'Soft, very soft... and with nipples! My goodness, Penelope, what have you filled your cups with?' 'I might even tell you... later.' I turned her towards the bed and let her inspect the various items laid on there. Clare was a woman who carried her life in her face: if she felt an emotion it was written there, at once, and the items on the bed gave rise to a whole flock of them ranging from the amazed to the curious. Once or twice she drew breath to speak, and then thought better of it: she ran a appreciative finger along the glycerine torpedoes – two of which lay in each kidney basin – and then raised her costume and held it against her body, viewing herself in the mirrored wall. Then she examined the garments carefully, giving voice to a squeal of delight when she discovered the glove set in the gusset of the knicks. She sighed. 'Adequate, I suppose,' she admitted, although the appreciation in her voice didn't agree with the statement. 'Oh, Penelope!' she cried, 'How exciting! What comes next?' 'Treatment. For both of us.' Clare raised one of the suppositories. 'Are you sure this will help my sprained ankle, nurse? Do I rub it on?' She laughed. 'Trust me, my dear,' I replied, clearing the bed. I introduced a new character. 'Trust Nursie to apply it to the right place. Now, if you'd like to lie in the cot...' 'Me?' 'Ladies first. After all, it's better to be second: you have the opportunity to get your own back – if you want to.' 'Make sure you give me cause to,' Clare muttered as she climbed into the cot. When she made to roll on to her stomach I pressed her firmly back into the mattress and then drew one of her arms over her head, buckling a rubber wristlet in place and then attending to the other. Clare raised no objections; in fact, her little pleasure sounds were very encouraging. Her hands secured, Nursie explained that it was necessary to remove Madam's rubber panties. Even though Clare obligingly raised her hips and helped all she could, it was still quite a hassle... probably because I was trying to retain as much of her copious juices in her knicks as possible. Once they were off I explored the gusset cupped in my hand. I was looking at a milky pool that might have filled an egg cup. The odour of her juices filled my senses. Clare watched me curiously as I slowly raised the pouched rubber to my mouth and dipped my tongue the viscous liquid. I moved it about until it was well coated with the syrupy stuff and then let Clare see it before I drew it into my mouth, savouring it's taste and texture. 'Madam has an excellent bouquet, if I might make so bold,' I said. Clare didn't say anything. She just looked at me, a smile on her parted lips and an hopeful, expectant look in her eyes. Once again, I dipped my tongue into the potent pool but this time – when it was well coated – I positioned my head over hers and lowered it until our lips met. Hers formed a seal around mine and then I parted mine slowly, letting her cunt juices dribble into her mouth for our tongues to fight over. That was a very passionate kiss, and I was glad that Clare's hands were bound; I wasn't sure that I could control myself at that moment, should she get those hands on me. 'That's what I wanted!' she exclaimed, once we came up for air. 'Happy to oblige,' I grinned. 'Now, if you'd just like to open wide you can have lots more' Instantly her mouth was gaping and I stuffed her rubber knicks into it, wrapping them in such a way that the creamy gusset was on the outside and closest to her taste buds. I could see her sucking and tasting her own cunt juices, and swallowing them. I climbed on to the bed/cot, drawing up the metal side bars after me. They locked firmly in place; the bed was strongly made and although it looked like a hospital bed, I very much doubted whether it had ever graced a ward. Since it came with all the bondage fitments in place – and even a 'top' of the same construction to make a cage – I guessed that it might have been a prop for a pornographic film. It was too strong even for that, maybe: whatever, I'd have liked to seen the film or watched it in action. The curious thing was that it was approximately forty years old. I was sure it could have told some interesting tales. At that time, however, all I needed to add was a single metal bar that supported Clare's ankles and – as I moved the bar further towards her head - raised her buttocks from the bed. At each end of the bar, where it was secured to the side of the cot, there were another pair of cuffs that fixed her legs to the required width. A touch of the dimmer switches, and Clare's exposed genitals were illuminated. Her plump thighs were held apart by her leg restraints and her sex was a deep throbbing slash, a hairless slash. Her dark, ruby labia were swollen and glistening with her secretions, actual bubbles standing on the soft flesh and a trickle dribbling over her asshole. Lust fat though they were, they didn't completely cover the tip of her purple clitoris and they parted to reveal the edges of her twitching cunt. She shuddered and moaned as my rubber covered fingers touched her cunt lips and drew them apart, her clit jerking in a very male response to the colder air...and my breath. It must have been all of three inches long in its engorged state, and as fat as my middle finger. It begged acknowledgement and I provided that by making my tongue into a circle shape, a vagina, to surrender to Clare's demanding prick, and then slowly wriggled it along her clit – much as a woman would take her man from above. Clare's response was positively cosmic. As my tongue/vagina encompassed more and more of her prick/clit, her moans turned the squeals and then cries of delight, clearly audible through her makeshift gag. Her hips reared off the bed as her clit raped my tongue and almost immediately took up a thrusting motion. Clare was fucking me and loving it. I slid two fingers into her cunt, felt her vaginal muscles clamp around them, and then penetrated her ass with two fingers from my other hand. The muscles there relaxed to permit me entry. The movements of her hips grew wilder and her cries - short, throaty, muffled cries – matched those thrusts; Clare was approaching an orgasm that I didn't want her to have just then. I unfolded my tongue and uncovered her clitoris before nibbling it between my teeth. Clare's body jerked hard against her restraints and she gave voice to a piercing scream that her gag reduced to a mumble...at which point I stopped, dead, and leaned back on my hips to watch Clare's reactions. Her eyes were screwed shut and her face flushed: her scream tailing off as she realised that I was not going to bring her to an orgasm. Her gag had stayed in place but her eyes flew open, searching mine for reasons. Nursie was back, I explained, and it was time to continue Clare's treatment. 'I'm afraid Madam got a little carried away there,' I continued, ignoring her mumbled protests that I guessed were to the effect that it had been all Nursie's fault. 'Never mind. We shall just have to make sure that Madam is prevented from seeing what is happening, since it must be those sights that are distressing Madam.' I held up the two supps so that Clare could see them. I waved the larger one. 'This will be applied first,' I explained pedantically, 'And usually takes some time to locate it correctly. Once that has been done, the second, smaller but fatter dressing will be applied.' I held up the other suppository. 'This has the effect of anaesthetising the affected parts and putting them out of action for a couple of hours.' I put them back in the kidney bowl and raised a loose rubber bag: her eyes went into surprise mode as she saw the implications. Nursie smiled maliciously. The hood was circular with a single, tightly elasticated opening. It was also made of 'transparent' latex; the wearer would have only blurred images of what was happening around them. And Clare knew that. Even so, by the time I reached towards her head it was already raised from the mattress. 'This is a sealed unit, Madam, I'm afraid, with only a limited amount of air,' I explained as I drew it over her head. 'Madam will have to be conservative with her breathing and not allow herself to become excited, and hope that the location of the first dressing doesn't take too long. Otherwise Madam might find herself suffocating...and the treatment, once started, cannot be stopped for any reason,' and, with that little tip I pulled the bag over Clare's head and settled the broad rubber seal snugly around her neck. I was definitely sure that Clare was well aware of her situation when she drew a last frantic breath of pure air before the seal settled around her neck. She turned her head from side to side, trying to see what was happening through the latex. Everybody, me included, responded in the same way. She was soon to find new wonders performed on her. I remarked earlier that I had dealt with my circulatory problems and, at the same time, had added a little length and girth to my manhood. Since all this was done at an expensive and private clinic in Switzerland, the results were a penis that was ten inches long and appropriately thick, the blood flow to support it, testicles enlarged to provide a flood of semen and – the dressing on the cake – the ability to recover quickly and even have multiple orgasms. Some of the treatments were a bit radical – illegal, even – but I was well pleased with the results. I wondered how Clare would feel about it. I cleared the skirt of my robe free of any obstructions and tucked the front of the hem into the knotted white cord around my waist. My prick jutted out, throbbing, aching for a bit of the action. It was leaking copious amounts of pre-cum and the inside of my robe skirt was coated with it. I bent forward again and ran my tongue to and fro along Clare's slit, dipping into her cunt and probing her asshole at each pass. She squirmed and thrust her wet sex against agaist my face, desperate to come. After I had paid due respect to her sex, I inserted the Big One into her vagina and rotated it until it was well lubricated with her juices. Having retrieved it, I pressed it's tip against Clare's asshole and smiled at the way the puckered ring of muscles seemed to be kissing it as she strained out to receive it. Slowly, a bit at a time, I slid it into her, feeling her rectal muscles urging it further in. I pushed the supp into her to the length of my forefinger and felt her bowels drawing it away from my fingertip. I watched her hooded face, the latex swelling and contracting as she struggled to breathe through her nose, hearing the snorting as the material gathered around her nostrils and limited her air supply. I reached over and lifted it free for a few seconds, enough for her to regain her breath. The rubber hood was cloudy in places and rivulets of Clare's sweat ran along it. 'So far, so good!' Nursie exclaimed, loudly and slowly enough to be heard through the sac. 'Now we have to position the dressing exactly. Madam might feel a little discomfort at this point. You may, if you wish, spit out your pantie gag to help your breathing. I do hope we shall be in time.' I was surprised to see the gag remain in place: there must have still been some tasty goo on it. I altered my position again, touching my purple glans against the entrance of her vagina. Clare stopped moving, sensing something different, trying to guess what it was. Then I worked the head into her cunt, moving slowly but never stopping, until the whole ten inches was buried inside her. Even with her ample lubrication it was a tight fit, and as my prick had made its stately progress into Clare, she had started to pant into the hood, make a nasal grunting that grew louder and louder until it was virtually a scream... and one of pleasure. Again I raised the rubber from her nose to help her breath. Her cunt was warm, wet, and tight, and she was milking me with her muscles as soon as my balls brushed her asshole. Her whole body jerked spasmodically, always searching for that elusive climax. But it still wasn't time, not yet. I withdrew until only the head of my prick was inside her and then drove it home again, this time with much more force, and repeated the action several times. Right up to the point, in fact, were I could tell that she was about to orgasm. Then I withdrew it completely, watching Clare's body sag as the treat was taken away from her. And it stayed that way until she felt the pressure of my prick pushing against her asshole. She shook her head wildly from side to side. A definite 'no'. She could judge my size from my brief foray into her cunt and obviously was worried about that monster invading her rear. But the shaking head was contemplation of a thing that was being done to her that had to be endured. After all, Clare could always have spit out the pantie-gag and demanded that I stop. My cock was slippery with her cunt juices, but it was hard to force a passage and she naturally tried to pull away from the source of the pain. Reaching for the plastic ruler that lay convenient on the bed, I slapped her full, rubber-covered breasts several times, aiming blows to land on her nipples and each blow accompanied by a nasal yelp! that was part pain and part surprise. Then, suddenly, the constriction eased and my prick was moving into the wider avenues of her bowels. Again I pressed forward, feeling my glans encounter and then plough through her shit until, eventually, it connected with the suppository and forced it further into her. In that orifice, too, I kept up the pressure until my testicles touched her bottom. Then I stopped, my whole prick buried inside her, and released her breathing for the last time. She froze as well, dragging ragged breaths into her nose: it wouldn't be long before there was not enough pure air in the hood to sustain her. 'Now come!' I called to her, dropping the wet rubber back over her face. 'Nursie says you can come whenever you're ready,' and I set to fucking her asshole hard and fast. My own climax was only seconds away, and I was urged to it by Clare's gyrations, part lust and part a struggle to gain breath. They became wilder and wilder, more frenzied, as she suffocated in her hood. Her head swung from side to side and her whole torso writhed as her orgasm and her frantic need for air twisted her. Then the gag was out of her mouth and her last weak scream matched mine as I pumped my spunk, jet after jet, into her ass. It was some climax. As soon as I felt the last spurt leave my prick I eased the rubber band away from her neck and tugged the rubber sac off her head. What made it much more surprising was that Clare's hair came off in the bag, all of it, revealing a head as bald as my own and exhibiting that type of baldness that had been depilated rather than being a medical condition. Something to be dealt with later. For some moments all Clare could do was draw great, rasping gulps of air into her lungs. I felt my prick detumescing and withdrew it as quickly as I could, anxious to get the anaesthetic suppository into her before she started to leak my jism. That done, I let robe fall over my shit- stained prick and set about releasing her. 'Treatment's finished now, Madam,' I said. 'How do you feel?' 'Funny enough,' Clare giggled, making herself cough, 'I swear that I felt as though some great monster came and fucked me, front and back, while I was taking the treatment. Did you make me fall asleep? It was a very real dream. Oh, and I dreamed that somebody covered my head with a rubber bag...' her eyes fixed on the sac still lying on the bed, '...just like that, in fact.' She moved until she was sitting on the side on the bed, still shivering. 'It was all very strange...and very exciting.' She passed her hands over her bald head. 'Oh, and all my hair seems to have fallen out.' 'Funny things happen in this room,' I confided, removing my own wig to reveal my hairless pate, 'It might be the atmosphere. By the way,' as an afterthought and holding out my wig, 'Do we need these? I find bare heads a real turn on,' 'Oh, yes,' she replied, laughing, 'Much sexier. And they have make-up all of their own. Yep, I'm all for it. Any other tricks we should know about each other?' I eased my dentures and – to my surprise – Clare did the same thing. 'Wow!' she exclaimed. The wigs were cast aside, although the dentures remained...for the time being. 'Hadn't you better get into your play suit now? You get to be Nursie this time, and I'm the patient. No knicks, though, not yet.' 'In a minute,' she replied, curiously. 'Penelope? Was that really your weapon that was fucking me? Or some dildo. It felt awfully large. It is?' Her hands reach for the hem of my robe, raising it slowly. 'May I?' I nodded, and Clare continued as though she was lifting a veil that concealed some holy relic. Some relic! Although my penis was only semi-erect it still brought an 'Oh!' from her. One hand held the skirt high while her other cupped my balls, weighing them and moving my scrotum to feel them roll across her palm. That hand then grasped the base of my penis and squeezed it, pumping more blood into my prick and causing it to grow a little. She raised it a little and moved her head forward until her brow rested on my belly. I had given her asshole a thorough fucking and my prick was coated with her shit; that smell, together with her own odours made a powerful bouquet that we could both smell. Clare was getting it at strength ten and, judging by the force of her expelled breaths, taking delight in it. Then she moved my cock again and I felt her lips kiss it and her tongue tease that sensitive place where my foreskin joined my glans. Like any keen warrior it was eager for combat and started to swell again. Clare's lips slid over my glans, her jaws wide apart to keep her teeth out of the way, and the sensation of her tongue cleaning it of the filthy secretions that it had collected during it's sojourn in her bottom quickly brought me back for a full erection. At last she judged it clean and carefully withdrew it. She looked up at me with an affectionate smile. 'I'm going to have a fuck of a job deep-throating this thing,' she declared, 'I shall have to practise on Rolly...or a fence post. Anyway, let me get into my costume. Nursie Penelope has gone off duty. I'm Nursie Clare...and I don't stand for any nonsense. First of all, where's that bloody hood?' She found the hood and extracted the rubber knicks she had been wearing when she arrived. 'Useful gags knickers make, don't they?' Clare commented as she carefully wiped the shaft of my prick clean of all traces of her buggery. 'You're very lucky girl, Madam. Your gag will have an extra flavour, and a strong one. I'm sure you'll appreciate it. You'd better.' She laid the much soiled knicks in my kidney bowl. 'Now, before I change into my uniform I must render you helpless. There have been occasions when patients have actually abused themselves while they watched me dress. I won't have any of that. I don't suppose you remembered to bring that piece of rope you were told to bring last time? I suppose not. Madam can be very naughty at times. You remember, the piece to match your belt, about thirty inches long?' I loved the way that Clare managed to turn a question as to the whereabouts of lengths of rope into our game. She was truly a devotee of atmosphere. And there had been those hints that she did not see this as a one night stand. Not that I was worried: I had already given thought to ways of extending this weird occasion. I directed her to the rope and knelt with my body bent forward – and with my hands clasped across my breasts – while she pulled the skirt of my gown up over my torso until it was tight against my waist cord. She gathered the rubber around my neck and secured it with the cord. Once the rubber above the cord was spread out it made an effective straight jacket. Then she ordered me back to my feet and grabbed my erection, a wicked look in her eyes. 'Right dribbler, aren't you?' That was obvious, since there was the evidence on the inside – now the outside – of my robe, and on the floor. She wanked me hard for a few moments and then drew her hands along my length and over my glans to collect my pre-cum. She held her glistening palms for me to see. 'I can see that Madam's going to cause trouble, I'm afraid.' Nursie Clare was back. 'We'll have to contain that fluid. Perhaps Madam would like to help clean up the mess that she has made. Since we're busy, if you clean one, Nursie will clean the other.' It took me a moment to gather the gist of Clare's intentions and then I started to lick at the pre-cum wetting one of her hands. She made an appreciative sound, a sound because – when I looked up – she was already engaged in cleaning the other hand. At last it was done and Clare wrapped herself around me in a cosy embrace. 'Oh, Penelope,' she sighed lustily, 'I do love the taste of pre-cum. Do you?' I savoured the salty, astringent taste that filled my mouth. It was a unique taste, all to do with sex, lust and passion. My prick reared. 'Yes, I do,' I admitted. 'It must have the same effect on women as your juices have of men. I'm lucky. I'm a bit of both so they both turn me on and...yes...it does taste nice.' That got me an extra hug and kiss. Then, once my prick had been sealed in a sheath, Clare settled me on the rubber covered sofa and set about dressing herself. I was interested to see how well Clare handled rubber and I was not disappointed: she was an expert. She powdered where she needed to and the black latex stockings were soon in place, taut and lovely. 'Who's Rolly?' I asked. 'My son. I've got a son and a daughter, both at uni so that limits our fun and games quite a bit. I'm very grateful that their halls of academia are at opposite ends of the country: there would be riots if they went to same place. We make up for it during the breaks, however,' she added with a chuckle. 'This will make a real hit at story time. Daughter's name is Sadie. Sally chose it, as her godmother, and has nurtured the concept ever since.' 'Sally? Sally who lives next door? And what's story time? I'm sorry, Clare. Every question I ask seems to produce two or three more.' 'Don't worry about it.' Clare reassured me with a smile. By this time most of her costume was in place and she was struggling to get her arms into latex gloves. Instinctively I knew better than to offer advice. Clare continued. 'Yes. Sally next door. My sister next door. She'll be at the next story telling, although you'll meet her before then.' She paused for a moment, considering something. 'Yes, I could make quite a drama out of this, if you'll cooperate.' 'Oh. I'll cooperate alright. But what's story time for God's sake?' 'That's when we all meet. There's several rituals to be observed and at one point one of us is chosen to tell a story. It can be real or made-up, it can even by a video... if it's very good... but everybody's listening to it, getting their rocks off and, finally, judging it. Nasty things happen to a poor story teller, and good ones, too, for that matter.' It was my turn to make an 'O' of a mouth. The gloves were proving something of a problem: Clare pulled them down and re- powdered her arms. She glanced my way and laughed. 'You look like a fish with your mouth open like that. Close it, there's a dear.' 'Purely as a matter of interest, are all your family involved in this? Please don't tell if you don't want to.' 'I don't mind in the least... for as long as it takes me to get into this fucking ornamented party dress. After that, Nursie's back. How many? Pretty well all of us, I suppose. Those that are left, that is. Once a year there's the family fest that every body has to attend; with our relations from the States and Europe, and adoptees, there were twenty-four last year.' 'And an adoptee is someone like myself who isn't a blood relation but can contribute to the family idea?' 'Yep. Want to apply?' I paused. 'What's the fees?' 'Very little,' Clare replied, settling her mop cap on her head, 'Not much at all...only your soul, in the sense of total commitment to our – your - family. Still interested?' I could only nod, and then Nursie was back. 'Now, Madam, shall we proceed?' She led me to the bed and, at first, made me kneel on it. My prick, still sheathed, hung from my belly like a stallion's. 'Since you've ejaculated once already, Madam, will you be able to control yourself this time?' 'I'll try, Nursie,' I muttered. She gripped my cock and started to wanked me again, long hard strokes that always got my pre-cum juices flowing. After several minutes of that she stopped and peeled off the sheath, holding it up for the contents to collect in the teat. She congratulated me, and so she should for the teat and a further half inch of condom will filled with my lubrication. 'That should do splendidly,' she said, 'You are a very lucky girl to have such a mixture of flavours on your gag. Let me see, there's Nursie's cum juices, excrement from her asshole and now even some of your own pre-cum. I hope you enjoy it. We must make sure you don't swallow it and choke, though.' With that she took up one of her discarded stockings and deftly split the leg apart until the split reached the heel. Taking up the soiled rubber panties she forced them into the toe of the stocking and then dribbled most of my pre-cum over them. The rest, a teat full, she laid to one side and the gag joined the other items in the kidney bowl. 'Nursie's treat,' she explained, pointing to the sheath. My legs were soon fixed to the movable rail, as Clare's had been although, if anything, the rod was closer to the head of the bed and more of my bum was exposed. She gathered the material above the cord that held my bondage tube in place, remarking that there was enough, almost to cover my head, and adding that she could always glue it on. Instead, she folded it back with the observation that she might have a use for it later. 'Now, Madam,' Nursie resumed, 'Since I'm a visitor to this place, perhaps Madam would direct me to some items that I require. I'm sure that Madam had much more experience. First of all, where are the light switches. I hate working in the dark.' Soon my den was flooded with light. Again, it wasn't a matter that bothered me; I'd designed the place to serve every taste and the bright lighting emphasised the treatment room aspect. Although Clare asked directions in some cases, she was taking a good old browse, casing my joint. In every case where she asked for directions, it was to a multiple-choice location. Whatever she collected was deliberately concealed from me and when she laid it on the bed it was out of my range of vision. I had already explained how to dull the overhead mirror tiles. Nursie Clare's collecting and inspecting complete, she lifted the malodorous gag. Once the gag was in place at the foot of the stocking she knotted the torn ends of the split stocking and then came to stand at the head of the bed. 'Open wide!' she said, and the filthy gag was stuffed into my mouth; the tails of the stocking leg were wrapped around my head and knotted over my mouth. 'There!' she exclaimed, 'Doesn't that taste just wonderful?' I nodded emphatically. 'Good,' she said and then added maliciously, 'Madam doesn't have any option, does she. Now, it Madam would raise his head again...' Madam did, and Clare pulled the other black stocking over my head, the partner to the one that was gagging me, tugging it until it reached my neck. Restricted vision, but not as depriving as the rubber hood and, of course, I could still breathe. I suspected that Nursie had plans and didn't have long to wait before a sharp pain cut across my buttocks, making me jump and protest through my nose. The minx must have held the ruler close to me at one point and drawn the other end back before releasing it: that would explain any warning swish! to prepare me. And, before the heat of the first blow had dissipated, the next one seared me in a different place. My snorts of protests became groans of pain. 'How many times did Madam take advantage of Clare when Clare was undergoing treatment?' Another blow. 'Five, was it?...' Yet another blow. '...or was it six. And how many have you had now? Three? I'm sorry, Madam, but the treatment prescribes ten in your case. Here they come!' Clare counted out loud each time that the ruler slashed across my ass, and I was heartily glad when she called out 'Ten!' That ruler was eighteen inches long and made of very bendy plastic. She did, however, kiss each burning cheek several times and, in passing, slobbered over my testicles and drove her tongue into my asshole. Then she held up the 'suppository positioner' she had chosen, an enema nozzle bizarrity with one inflator bulb to increase the size of the plug once it was in place, but also another one that expanded two rubber sacs – one at each end of the rectum. There were other bits to it, too, but they were of less pith and I wondered why she was busily unrolling a sheath over it. I guessed it was for the lubrication provided: Nursie Clare told me that it was to stop me getting pregnant. Then Clare parted my ass cheeks with one hand and I felt the cold wetness touch my asshole and – automatically – I strained out. The fat supp slid in easily, right to the limits of Clare's fingers, and then the tip of the rubber prick touched my still straining hole. In its un-inflated state, the enema nozzle dildo was large, as large as a good sized penis. Even so, the bulbous glans was soon inside my rectum and Clare obviously knew exactly how to plug a butt. The minx even had a good idea of the position of my prostrate and paused at that point to inflate the dildo, grasping my prick with her free hand to feel the frantic surges as my body demanded relief. There was another surge of excitement as it penetrated my shit, all the while driving the suppository deeper into me. That, of course, was the whole point of 'positioning': a supp only finger-deep will produce a dribble before the real stuff starts to emerge while a 'positioned' supp - positioned deep in my excreta – produces much more natural results. Clare leaned back to inspect her handiwork, one of the inflator bulbs in each hand. 'Is Madam comfortable?' she asked, 'No nasty thoughts or actions? No? Good. Now we'll proceed to the exact placing.' Which was what she did, using the bulbs alternately to inflate the rings inside and outside of me, and then lengthen and fatten the rubber prick. When she was satisfied she placed a couple of the rubber pillows on the cot mattress beneath my buttocks, unfastened my ankles, and removed the bar...only to secure them with rubber straps attached to the end on the bed. The pillows arched my back so that my erection stood up like a flag pole. The highest part of my body, and throbbing for release. Then the head stocking was removed and Clare drew the rubber bag over my head, pulling it down until it rested on the bridge of my nose. 'Very well, Madam, we've now reached the final part of this stage of your treatment. It is most important that you do exactly as I say.' As she climbed astride my body, facing me, Nursie Clare's words were belied by her actions. She let the skirts of her dress and slip fall to covered our lusts and then reached under them to grasp and position my cock against the entrance to her vagina, an action so perverse that I almost lost control. Clare responded immediately, releasing my prick until I had restored my equilibrium, meanwhile giving further instructions. 'Madam will have to exercise control during this latter stage, definitely not seeking release until she is told to. Otherwise she may never have the use of her ankle again. Do you understand?' I nodded. 'And are you under control again?' I nodded again, and then felt her swollen sex lips encompass my glans as she impaled herself upon me. She couldn't help making the most un- nurse-like little cries and gasps of pleasure, matched by my nasal grunts of delight: her cunt was soft and smooth, pulsing with her own demands and her cunt muscles flexing over me. And, of course, my prick was further teased by the enema nozzle plug in my ass. When her buttocks finally rested on my thighs she reached for the edge of the hood. 'Take a deep breathe.' She ordered, and when I had done so she pulled the latex hood down over the rest of my head until the elasticated opening nestled around my throat. Suffocation time. And, amazingly, Clare didn't move. I waited for her to adjust her position to start riding me, but nothing. Then I felt the gentle ripple of her vaginal muscles as they moved in sequence along the length of my prick. Only when the rings had hugged my glans did they start at the bottom once again, this time more forcefully. It was an absolutely wonderful sensation, even better than being deep throated, and amid all the cortical surges that fed my growing orgasm I realised that this woman had total vaginal control. I was fighting hard to control that orgasm, and gasping for what little air remained in my hood: Clare had already lifted the material away from my nose on a couple of occasions. I could see no more that a dim outline of her – mainly derived of colours – but I could hear her sounds of pleasure and feel the wild motion of her hips. Then came the final squeeze that I knew would carry us both 'over the top'. 'Now!' Clare screamed, 'This time, you bastard! Don't fuck up!' Each muscle ring clamped my erection tightly before relinquishing the task to the next in line. Clare had become frozen, but I could feeling another shuddering that shook her cunt; our orgasms held us in thrall. I could not breath but, somehow, that distress was channelled into my lusts. This orgasm was so slow, like the breaking of a huge wave: it was like nothing that I had ever experienced before... waiting for the final ring of muscles to grip my glans and turn me into that rolling wave. My vision started to darken and I was already hyperventilating. I wondered it I would stay conscious for the climax. Clare was keening, the pitch rising with each change of muscles. And then we were there and the final cluster of muscles closed around me to receive spurt after spurt of my semen. My last recollection was of Clare's screams of delight – and, inconsequentially, a fervent hope that the neighbours were good sleepers. As usual, I was unconscious for no more that a minute or so and once Clare had removed the hood and gag I was breathing immediately. She was still sitting on my hard-on, using those wonderful muscles to maintain it in that state. She gave me a wide grin, happy and satiated, with a 'Thank You' formed on her lips. Clare wasn't fazed out by her orgasms: they were something to be enjoyed and while the atmosphere was the foreplay, there was little time allowed for post-coital caresses. Or the little death. Now was time to relax. The was a hiss of air as the enema nozzle valves were released and there was a strange sensation of loss as the butt-plug deflated. Clare removed it, jammed the sleepy supp in place, and helped me to my feet, loosening the rope holding my skirt around my neck. The rubber swept over me and I stretched my arms, lowering them gently over the woman who had moulded herself to me as I stretched. I could feel that she was still trembling slightly against me, just as I was doing to her. We had, after all, just had a couple of cosmic climaxes. 'Surgery closed?' she asked. 'Not by any means,' I replied and holding out the rubber knicks, her whites in my right hand, mine in my left. 'We've still got to apply the dressings, then there's the feeding routine before the treatments take effect.' 'Either?' Clare asked. I shook my head and offered the pair in my right hand. Clare examined them closely. She held the waistband against her own waist: that would certainly be a tight fit, as would the bands that would encircle her thighs. Then she peered inside and gave a cry of surprise. 'Penelope!' she exclaimed, 'What a perfectly wonderful idea. Where did you get them?' I preened an imaginary ring against my chest. 'I invented them, actually,' I smirked, 'And my rubber tailor will make them for you...but only if I say so.' 'Meanie! Are yours the same?' 'Pretty much, only mine are red. The idea of the long legs is for us to roll our stockings over the knicker legs to seal them.' Clare looked calculatingly at me, weighing her next question carefully. I just knew what it was going to be. 'Sealed? Sealed against what?' 'Ah...well...bodily fluids was what I had in mind. We've still got a date for dinner and I thought we might watch some videos while we were eating. We'll get a change to see the promo video of Rubber Discipline Hall. It kills time until you're ready for the rest of your treatment.' Clare struck a thoughtful pose. 'Just let me think,' she pondered. 'Would our late dinner comprise mainly of roughage and fluid, perhaps?' 'One does need fibre to feed these treatments. You've forgotten the medicine, though.' 'Medicine?' 'Half a bottle of powerful and fast-acting laxative in each serving...where the bottle size is 400 milligrams and the recommended dose is 20 milligrams...' '...Which sounds about right to me.' Clare nodded and stepped into her knickers. 'I've just discovered this terrible appetite.' She admitted, grinning. I donned mine, letting her see – by example – how she should roll the tops of her stockings down her thighs, pull the knicker legs down towards her knees and then roll the stockings back up over them. If she already knew about that system – and I suspected that she did – Clare made a good show of pretending to learn. Privately, I think that she just liked my show. She tucked the waistband of her knicks under that of her tunic, mine vanished under my rubber corset and, in my case, six suspenders held my stockings taut, the tops drawn nearly into my groin. 'That high?' 'As high as you can get them, and let the loose rubber flow over them. Now, shall we eat?' I asked as I drew the curtain aside to admit her to the diner. 'Incidentally, your treatment notes prescribe forced feeding.' I could see at once that there was something occupying Clare's mind. She fenced, asking if we could try the inbuilt gloves. I refused, and she countered by asking me how I proposed to 'feed' her. I pointed to the fluids trolley, hung with a large pink rubber bag with a rubber pipe set in the base of the sac and folded back into it. The wheel chair was beside it, complete with all that trappings that would hold 'baby' firmly in place, and securing her hands and feet to boot. The thick rubber straps that held various other parts of the body were there to torment. The usual seat had been replaced with a toilet seat and some slides underneath it allowed for a variety of containers from a bowl to a Skye bag. 'Looks interesting,' she admitted, 'I'm tempted.' She considered for a moment. 'No,' she said at last, 'Not this time. Not that I don't want lots of goes on it. I do, but I'd like to chat over supper. Do you mind?' 'Not in the least,' I replied. 'Mainly 'cos it's part of the treatment, one of the most important parts. You don't really have any choice.' For a moment Clare seemed on the verge of rebellion and I wondered if I'd overplayed my hand. 'You really are something special, Nurse,' she admitted admiringly and she gave an eloquent shrug. 'Well, if its part of the treatment then we'd best get on with it. I'm feeling quite peckish, as it happens.' I watched her glance around the area. There were no windows in my playroom. 'What time is it?' she asked, 'I feel as if I've been here for hours.' 'Does it matter?' I asked. 'Time doesn't happen in this room. I've no idea myself. Why? Do you want to call a halt? I'd be sorry if you did.' Clare gave a throaty chuckle. 'What, and miss out on the rest of this? Not on your nelly. Very well, Nursie, what happens now?' I steered her towards the chair, helping her settle herself into it. And making sure that her slit was held open by passing a broad leather strap over each thigh and buckling them tight. The straps were threaded around the edges of the seat and Clare's thighs were pulled to the edge. Other straps held her arms to the chair arms and I placed her feet on the steps and secured them in the same manner. I let her watch me make up the huge bowl of cereal for myself and then mix up hers in a mixer until it would be easy enough for her to swallow. The I added the magic ingredient to both and, after lifting her dummy from the rubber bag, emptied hers into it. It was quite a lot. 'Enough?' I asked, and Nurse Penelope asked, 'I trust Madam is comfortable?' Clare grinned. 'Are you being funny?' she asked. 'Of course I'm comfortable ...not. I suppose you've got a little girls' apron for me?' Funnily, that was just what I did have and, once I had tied it in place, I thought that she looked quite cute. A pair of fingerless rubber mittens encircled her hands and were fastened in place. 'Just in case Madam slops her food,' I remarked sarcastically, approaching her with the feeding nozzle. 'Open wide! It's feeding time!' I needn't have bothered. Clare already had her mouth stretched wide open. The feeder was a rather strange device, another of my inventions. The tube from the rubber bag had an internal diameter of half-an-inch and at the delivery end passed through an elliptical rubber pad about 4 inches on the long axis and 2 on the short. The tube protruded a further inch beyond the rubber plate and ended in a soft plastic rim, something like a nipple...where the goodness came from. There were two clamps on the tube – one at the top and another just before. One last item was the bulb of a hand pump 'in case Madam needed encouragement' as I explained to Clare. I released the top valve and then the lower one, waiting for Clare's dinner to arrive; all the air in the pipe would take up valuable stomach space. The mixture quickly made its way along the tube and I sealed the tube just as the last air emerged. Then it was fitting time. The two “wings” of the rubber plate went between Clare's cheeks and her teeth and the nipple into her mouth. A simple leather strap buckled behind her bald head to hold the contraption in place. 'Any problems?' I asked. I had no wish for the poor woman to expire on my premises. Clare shook her head and I could see that she was already swallowing. I sat beside her on a low stool and kicked the 50 cm plasma screen into life. I selected a particularly filthy, depraved film and set it running. And, yes, the fact that I featured in it did influence my choice. Nor was my choice of eating unplanned: I was sitting lower than Clare which gave me the opportunity to fondle and caress her sex, to her obvious satisfaction. Well, she did have two orgasms, what with the depravity on the screen and my manipulations. Eventually our meals were finished – I was surprised that Clare consumed all of hers – and I removed her gag/feeder. 'Drink?' she asked hoarsely. I had a can of lager to hand, with a straw, and I held it to her lips as she drank thirstily. Then she moved her mouth away from the straw and gave me a lovely smile. 'Well,' she said, 'This girl's had some weird meals in her time but never one as weird as that. The floorshow was good, too.' She looked at me for a moment, musing. 'Were you a volunteer or were you forced? There were times when I wasn't sure.' 'In a manner of speaking, I was forced,' I replied, 'But that's another story.' I cleared away and then loosened Clare's bonds and helped her to her feet. Her first act was to reach under her skirt. 'Bloody Hell!' she exclaimed, 'Feel this!' She grabbed my hand and thrust it between her legs. She had a right to boast: there was quite a deep pool of her sex juices collecting in the gusset of her rubber knickers. 'I fear the Madam is still excessively excited,' Nurse Penelope interrupted. 'Perhaps she should return to the treatment area at once where these urges can be controlled.' And Madam led the way, having no idea of what still lay in store for her. END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 55