Contemporary UK Story: Going Up/Going Down

Going Up/Going Down

Suvi glanced at her phone to see how long the meeting had overrun. She guessed she was an hour into overtime if this job; this company, paid overtime. The only benefit she could see would be that, by the time she had collected her stuff from upstairs and walked to the stop, the next bus to arrive would be that bit quieter than one during the initial burst of the rush hour. The lateness, however, seemed to be doing nothing to benefit the speed of the lifts, but eventually one came.

Stepping inside, Suvi pressed for her floor. It was nearly at the top of the building, though not quite, because the “penthouse” offices with views across London, were reserved for the top executives. The genuine board room was up there too, not that the board members came in often and their meetings tended to be held in swanky hotels instead. Suvi guessed it was probably much the same everywhere.

‘Wait! Wait!’

Suvi looked up to see a biker, presumably a courier, sprinting from the stairwell into the lobby where the lifts arrived. Suvi pressed to keep the doors open. 

‘It’s going up,’ Suvi explained.

While she had her work bag with her, she wanted to fetch her coat which was hung up in her corner of the big open-plan office.

‘Sure, that’s what I need,’ the courier replied.

As the courier stepped in, Suvi realised she was a woman. She breathlessly thanked Suvi. She set down a large cardboard box fortunately with a plastic handle to make it easier to manoeuvre and a smaller upright one. The courier then simply stood and watched as finally the lift doors closed.

Immediately Suvi picked up the scent of the woman’s all-in-one leather bike suit. It was a rich, not unpleasant aroma and she noticed that there was something lighter, sweeter, cut in with it. Suvi realised she expected bikers, if they wore anything in terms of deodorant, to select masculine scents rather than this. The woman had long jet-black hair in a plait that stretched down across her leather-clad back. Again Suvi realised she expected them all, whether male or female, to have buzz cuts. Much of the lift interior was mirror so Suvi was able to look with interest at the reflection of the courier’s face. The eyes caught her immediately. They were a deep-set, rich brown and very elliptical. Her cute nose and almost delicate chin were pointed.

The features for some reason seemed distantly familiar and then made Suvi think of the Philippines: a mix of Hispanic and East Asian elements, which she would have to confess, made for a pretty, maybe even beautiful, face. The courier’s small mouth smiled and Suvi realised the woman had been looking at her in return.

‘Do I know you?’ Suvi asked.

The woman now turned to face her directly and gave a little laugh.

‘Yes, don’t you remember, Suvi?’

The fact that the woman used her proper name rather than changing it from its Finnish source to an English rendition like “Susie”, seemed to confirm they had met before. Suvi, however, battled to remember where.

‘The Christmas party …’ the woman prompted.

Suvi struggled to recall that horrendous event. It was still causing ructions in the company.

‘I would say I was trying to forget it, but you know, that is actually very easy.’

The courier looked quizzically at her.

‘You didn’t hear?’ Suvi was not certain how connected this woman was to the company; what she might know or not know about it. ‘Harry Swinton - deputy head of HR - put something in that punch. One of those three-letter drugs they use for spiking. Said he was trying to “spice up” the “dull lot”, well, us I guess. Didn’t seem to do his career much harm, though.’

‘I didn’t drink the punch, I was on my bike,’ the woman explained.

‘Look, here, I’ll show you the email.’

Suvi started looking for it on her phone. As she did though, the lift’s lights flickered and then with a deep whine the lift stopped moving. She held her breath as the lights flicked briefly to red then back to white, though perhaps a little more yellowy in colour than before.

‘Oh God, that is all I need,’ Suvi said.

‘Why? You claustrophobic?’

‘No … but I was running late as it was.’

‘I am sure it won’t take long to fix.’

‘But aren’t you on some sort of schedule? Won’t this mess this up?’ Suvi nodded to the two boxes.

The courier smiled. ‘No, this was a social call.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Yeah, I was just going up to pick up my girlfriend; head off out.’

‘Oh, I see.’

The woman did not look like one she would have imagined as a lesbian, though she had the sense that any who rode motorbikes would possibly - probably - be one. Saying that, she had seen enough “biker chicks” from movies and TV fawning over or rowing with hairy men. Now Suvi found herself wondering which of her colleagues might be dating this woman. She soon gave up though: it was a big company and the courier had not even pressed one of the buttons so Suvi had no clue which floor she had been heading to.

The moments passed in silence. It seemed that the lift was not going to start up soon. Suvi was glad her phone still had a reasonable amount of charge. She found the email she had been looking for. She was not clear about this courier’s relationship with the company but guessed while she might have been invited to the party, probably as someone’s guest, that might mean she was unlikely to have seen the email that had come from the “fallout” of Mr. Swinton’s actions. Suvi handed the phone across to the courier.

‘Thanks,’ the woman said.

She took off one glove and set it down on the top of the larger box. She studied the screen of the phone before handing it back, repeating her thanks.

‘So all you guys were spiked and it led to …’

‘Well a lot of things. Gulika Mandal said half of that would have happened anyway; people were just using this stuff as an excuse. For most people, though, it was memory loss. I think I got a taxi home, so was alright. Rosanna Byrne ended up in Trafalgar Square and Thorsten Nielsen got taken off the far end of the District Line; fast asleep.

‘That explains why you cannot remember me.’

‘I guess so. Well, I’m Suvi …’

‘Suvi Ferguson, named after your Finnish great-grandmother.’

Suvi nodded and extended a hand.

‘Yes and you are …’

‘I’m Marisol.’

‘Your family is from the Philippines, right?’

‘You remember that?’ Marisol expression perked up.

‘No … it was a guess.’

‘Oh, okay.’

Marisol let go of Suvi’s hand which she realised she had been holding far longer than was needed for a shake.

‘Yeah. Well, was it a good party?’ Suvi asked after long moments of silence.

Marisol have a weak smile. ‘For me, yes. I thought for you too.’

‘Well … I guess I should be pleased with that.’

‘It was me who got you into the taxi.’

‘Really, erm, well, I guess I should say thank you.’

‘I made sure you were safe; got you into bed. Sorry … now this is sounding creepy and I don’t mean to be creepy, the opposite, but maybe … maybe what I’ve done seems creepy. You know when something seems so right it sort of carries you through and then you step back from it and suddenly you have doubts, big doubts?’

Suvi smiled and nodded. The memory of serenading Hennrick with her guitar only for his girlfriend’s head to emerge and tell her to get lost seemed to fit what the woman was saying, pretty well.

‘Sure … been there; done that.’

The two women laughed together.

‘I am sorry that you never got a “thanks” from me for helping me get home and now four; five weeks have passed.’

‘Yes … I don’t know. There was a lot we said and … then well …’

‘I just forgot all about it.’

‘I see that now, but before just now, I didn’t know that.’

‘So, what things did I say?’

‘Look, I don’t think this thing is going to be moving for a while. I know it’s hardly comfortable, but let’s sit down.’

Marisol went down on to the floor almost immediately. Suvi was more hesitant, not wanting to get her work suit dirty. The courier seemed to understand.

‘I’ve got something you can sit on.’

She reached for the larger box and opened it. The aroma of leather came even stronger now and Suvi saw why as Marisol pulled out another combi biker’s suit.

‘It’s brand new. You can sit on that.’

Marisol spread it out on the floor stretching towards her.

‘You don’t want to spoil it.’

‘These things are tough. A bit of dirt off this carpet will be nothing to when it’s on.’

Rather self-consciously, Suvi got down on to the leather and stretched out lining up with its legs.

‘Thank you.’

That sweet, sharp, scent smelt stronger now and Suvi found it made her feel a little heady. She guessed though she could not complain as Marisol seemed to be giving up some gift; maybe something she had tried to deliver, in order to make her feel comfortable. Then she wondered if her headiness was simply because it was the end of the day; the end of the week and she had not eaten anything except a single biscuit since lunchtime.

‘Don’t you get hot in these?’ Suvi asked.

The smooth leather felt lovely beneath her fingers but she was aware of the weight of it; the various tough patches in it that she imagined were for protection.

‘You don’t wear much beneath them.’

Slowly Marisol lowered the zip on the front of hers until it was clear she only had a bra on there. It was a functional one, but was black and sleek in a way that Suvi found she appreciated; could then imagine herself wearing. She tried to look away from Marisol but instead found herself admiring the curve of her breasts.

‘So you don’t remember anything from the Christmas party?’ Marisol now asked.

Suvi shook her head, then glad of something to break her concentration on the woman’s breasts. ‘I think I remember getting ready in a bit of a rush and then people in that place … that bar was it? Or was that last year? Did we go to the same place?’

For a moment Suvi wondered why Marisol had focused on this topic, but she guessed it was actually quite useful to find out what she could not recall witnessing.

‘Do you remember talking with anyone?’

‘I think I talked with Sara and Stuart; Rosie, maybe. I think I even talked with Harry Swinton. Did he tell me to do something? I have a dim sense he did. Oh, he didn’t get me to put the stuff in the punch, did he? No, it must have been in there already or I would remember it better. I imagine it was something about circulating. He does sometimes treat the younger women as if we’re some kind of air hostess.’

‘I saw you talking to him, then you came over to me.’

‘Ah, okay. Right, sorry, Marisol, but that bit is blank.’

‘I think I believe that now.’

‘I didn’t want you thinking I was being rude or anything.’

‘No, no. But … do you still have my number in your phone?’

‘Erm … I don’t think so, but … I have got a lot on here.’

Rather feebly, Suvi started to go through the saved numbers. Many of them had odd names or codes that she could not even remember what they meant. Then the phone chimed and ‘Marisol’ with a smiling face of the woman sat on the floor opposite her appeared. Suvi chuckled.

‘Looks like I still have it.’

She pressed on it and there was a moment of feedback before the two women each killed the call.

‘Okay … this is the tough bit … and I am thinking now I have made certain assumptions and … done certain things that … I don’t know,’ Marisol began hesitantly.

‘Sounds a bit ominous. Did we … did we sleep together?’ Suvi could not imagine doing that but it was the kind of thing she heard went on after Christmas parties.

‘No, no … no, I would never take advantage of anyone that way. You were out of it when we got to your place. You do …,’ Marisol swallowed, ‘you do have a great bod, but I got you in some bed clothes.’

‘Okay, I am grateful for that.’

‘It is the least you should expect; I am not a man after all.’

‘No, I can see … I understand that.’

‘But you don’t remember saying how much you felt I was beautiful; how you would like me to be your “first” with a woman?’

At that, Suvi went bright red with embarrassment. ‘I … erh, well, you are beautiful, I can say that. But … but, I have never set out to be with a woman … you know, sex ,’ Suvi stuttered.

Saying that, though, Suvi felt then that she could imagine kissing this woman and was feeling curious what her body looked like. Was it simply a result of being stuck in here with Marisol? Would she have begun to have similar feelings if it has been Stuart or even Mr. Swinton?

‘Okay. Now … I’m not making this up, but you did say you wished you had the courage to “do it” with a woman like me; you just needed someone who would take your hand and gently lead you.’

‘Oh my God, did I?’

‘Yes. I was slightly cautious as I thought it might be some kind of trick and then you were getting a bit wobbly, but thinking back now, I see you weren’t alone in that. The men were mainly sticking to beer but even some of them had the punch and Jonas fell asleep pretty quickly. However, by then I was fixed on looking after you. This Swinton guy even said I should take you home … oh, shit!’

‘What?’

‘I see it now. He knew he was doping everyone and making them suggestible. I’m betting he was having a lesbian fantasy about you with me. He told you what to say to me; I feel sure of it.’

‘What a bastard! I can see that being one of his tricks.’

Suvi did recall from the year before about Swinton trying to “pair up” various members of staff, whether they were of the same gender or not, to kiss under the mistletoe. She had kissed Sara just to keep him quiet.

The two women fell silent. Suvi ran through a range of emotions, though steadily she found she was most annoyed about how Marisol had been misled.

‘I am sorry if you thought I was coming on to you; that it was genuine.’

Marisol have a flash of a smile from her very cute mouth. ‘I am a grown-up. I know now you are not a clit-tease …’

‘Clit-tease?’ Suvi chuckled.

‘It’s …’

‘I get it,’ Suvi responded with a laugh.

The word “clit” however, seemed to echo deep within her as a kind of reminder that she was not simply missing her dinner, but any chance she might have had of getting some action tonight, even of the one-night stand variety, would be ebbing away.

‘But you have never kissed a woman – that was real?’

‘Yes, I went to a bog-standard school not a posh boarding one.’

‘But, you know, these days a lot of women … explore.’

‘Yeah, I know the celebs do … a lot of them anyway. I did kiss Sara last year but really I did it just to shut down Swinton’s comments.’

‘And how was it?’

‘Nice … I guess and … looking at your soooo cute mouth, I am thinking that maybe now would be a good time to try it out again.’

‘That is my fault,’ Marisol said, avoiding Suvi’s gaze. ‘I … well, I had thought what you said to me at the party was real. Then that you had just got cold feet so I did something; am doing something. The only trouble is I think I am simply doing more of what that bastard Swinton planned.’

‘What is it? It’s this … this stuff I can smell, isn’t it?’

Marisol looked up rather embarrassed. ‘I am so sorry, Suvi. As I said, I should have stopped and thought before going ahead.’

‘What is it?’

‘I got it off the internet. It’s a mix of stuff, to ease you a bit; excite you a bit. I thought it would loosen things between us a bit. I was so excited at the party; thought we could start something good, even if just for you to see. You are beautiful and I could so easily see me and you being together.’

‘So this stuff, it’s on …’

‘It’s on my leathers; on yours too.’

Suvi now looked down at the suit she was sitting on. She brought her fingers to her nose and drew the scent on them in deeply.

‘Mine? I thought you were taking them as a delivery; to your … girlfriend.’

‘Yes, they are meant to be for my girlfriend; the boots too.’

Marisol opened the upright box and pulled out a pair of practical biker boots like her own and tipped out a pair of gloves afterwards.

‘So when you said you were  going up to pick up your girlfriend you meant you were going to pick up me?’

Marisol nodded slowly. ‘This lift has not broken down; I had this arranged. I know guys in the control room. They are stopping it until I call them. This time of the day no-one is going to worry if one of the lifts is off.’

‘Right,’ Suvi said slowly.

Part of her felt she should be angry or even scared. However, Suvi felt she could see the woman’s motives. Maybe if the situation had been reversed, she would have done the same. She remembered how she had rearranged projects so she would be assigned with Will, not just once, but a number of times.

‘Look, I realise that really I have just done effectively what this Swinton guy was trying.’

‘No.’ Suvi held up her hand. ‘He was just doing that for some … second-hand fantasising. This,’ she gestured to the floor, ‘is about you and me and what we want.’

‘But it is no different to last time. You are not in your right mind; this is all being done “under the influence”.’

‘Or maybe … this is about opening the doors of perception.’ Suvi laughed at that for sounding so pretentious; Marisol joined in. ‘It is only Swinton’s thing if this is fake. If it’s real then we get the last laugh.’

Marisol looked rather unconvinced.

‘Anyway what is done is done,’ Suvi said pragmatically. ‘Your magic mixture, whatever it is, is making me …’ she gave out a gasp and then shuddered, ‘so wanting to be kissing you; doing everything that … ah, fuck. God this is coming hard. The more … the more I say it the more it is coming into my mind. I want to suck you, lick, stroke you, I want you to do … I’ve got to get it out. I want you to … do those things to me – lick my pussy; suck my … clit.’

Suvi struggled to complete what she was saying and then it was precisely as she had said. The more she thought about what lesbians did sexually; the more she imagined what they could do, the more those things became embedded in her mind that she wanted; needed, to do them and, above all, with the astoundingly beautiful, sassy, sexy woman sat across from her. Though not knowing whether this would last, for the moment, Suvi felt certain that she was a lesbian and that the woman she wanted to be her girlfriend was in this lift with her. She went up on all fours and crawled over to Marisol.

‘This is not right,’ Marisol protested.

‘But it is. Shut up and kiss me.’

Ultimately Marisol yielded and quickly the two women were lying in each other’s arms, snatching quick kisses and then indulging in long, tongue chasing ones. Eventually, Suvi broke, her hips feeling stiff from lying on the floor. She gazed into Marisol’s eyes feeling lost deep within them. She stroked her cheek and her about-to-be lover reached out to do the same, gently running her fingers over Suvi’s pale, radiant, freckled skin.

Now feeling energised; excited; impatient to be in bed with this woman, Suvi jumped up and started to strip off her jacket, then to unbutton her blouse. Marisol stood up behind her and took the clothes and put them into the larger box. Soon, Suvi’s shoes and trousers were off. She was not certain if her socks and other underwear would suit, but she would go with them for now; envisaging going shopping with Marisol for biker-suitable versions. She turned now deliberately pressing her excited breasts against the hard leather that covered Marisol’s chest then they kissed some more.

Stepping back, Suvi lined up her first leather combi and began to slide herself into it. Marisol helped and soon Suvi found herself encased in black leather, the creak and the aroma of it exciting her. Marisol zipped her in and then helped her get on the boots. Suvi was mirrored on all sides and saw a very different woman to the one who had entered the lift. Marisol gently pulled her snow-blonde hair into a long plait to match her own, tying it off with nothing more exotic than a rubber band.

‘See, your girlfriend has emerged from her chrysalis, a wonderful shiny black butterfly,’ Suvi declared.

Marisol laughed at that. Suvi was not certain whether she was genuinely falling for this woman but for the moment the pleasure she got from feeling she was, was more than enough not to question.

‘Come on, get your friends to get us out of here. I want to be going out; going home with you,’ Suvi insisted.

Marisol complied and the lift began to move.

‘Going down,’ she said.

‘Not quite yet,’ Suvi gave a mischievous grin.

She realised that beneath her new leathers she felt highly aroused. However, her stomach was complaining and she knew she would not be up for her first round of lesbian sex unless she satisfied it first. The next hour saw Suvi given her first motorbike helmet and take a pillion ride that did nothing but stoke up her arousal. They grabbed a takeaway and headed to her small flat. Suvi’s mind was buzzing as she almost skipped up the steps to her place. She and Marisol had kissed while waiting for their food, but these days, Suvi guessed, no-one seemed to pay much attention to two women doing that, even if they were both beautiful, sexy women in tight leathers.

In the flat, Suvi simpered as Marisol got her boots off and unzipped her from the leathers. It was not simply that she was rendered right down to her underwear so quickly, but the sense that she would be putting these clothes on again. The leather might be heavy but there was something about the shiny black carapace that Suvi knew she had come to love. Yes, this was Marisol’s job and she could not see herself becoming a courier, but she was totally sold on motorbikes now and the clothing that went with them. In turn, Suvi removed the boots and combi from the woman she already felt for certain was her girlfriend and would soon be her lover and one day perhaps her wife. Suvi now had no inkling that even just a few hours before those thoughts would have seemed very strange to her, because now they were an integral part of her identity.

Soon the new couple were in bed, feeding each other morsels of takeaway food and sipping on beers. After that, they lay in each other’s arms, grinning at what this day had brought. Then slowly, to reaffirm what she had come to realise she felt for Marisol, Suvi began to kiss her body; took her nipples into her mouth and gently began to rub her thigh between Marisol’s. It proved no difficulty to envisage what lesbians did in bed and going with what felt so right now to Suvi, she did the same to her lover. Marisol’s soft words, small sounds and nudges steered Suvi to growing competence in pleasuring another woman. Suvi realised that as she progressed now with her tongue lapping hungrily at Marisol’s pussy, that her work was making this woman relax and, she trusted too, showing that this was all genuine. As Marisol rose to climax, her hands clasping Suvi’s head, she let out a deep, satisfied moan. Suvi felt a sense of release in her lover that had been a long time coming.

Having recovered, Marisol moved to return the favour taking Suvi to the first of many, many orgasms brought to her by a woman. After the sex, the couple fell into a deep sleep; a weekend of getting to know each other, lying ahead. Suvi woke the next morning lusting after, loving, the woman beside her and that was how it would be from now on.

THE END

Contemporary Europe Story: Master of Puppets

Whilst this story is named after an album by Metallica, all the characters in it are fictional and not based on anyone who actually exists or existed. This story features mind control, body piercing and transformation. Though the latter two are not things I usually go in for in my stories, this is one of my favourite compositions.

Master of Puppets
by Tang.

Coming out of college, Sian had no idea what she wanted to do, however, she had had a lucky break: Tom, a man she had known vaguely from when she had been on the college newspaper team, offered her a job on the new magazine he had started. Sian took the job immediately, telling herself it would pass the time and bring in a reasonable wage to help clear her student debts until she had decided the direction she was going to go in. It was only on the first day when she had arrived at Tom’s office in her best charcoal grey reporter’s suit that she realised what the magazine covered. Amongst the few other staff she stuck out, they were clad in tour teeshirts and tight jeans and Ally, the only other woman on the team, looked the archetypal rock chick. It turned out Tom had thought it had been Sian who had penned a series of reviews of rock bands that had played at the college and local bars, under the pseudonym of ‘Raven Minx’, when all along she had in fact been covering the reports of some of the college’s more obscure sports with just her initials on the tagline. However, Sian was not keen to pass up the job and represented her suit as a first-day joke. The next day she was back in jeans and a plain teeshirt, the closest her wardrobe had to what her colleagues wore. That first week Sian put herself on a crash course of learning the differences between nu metal, old school metal, thrash, glam, black and death, and her small flat echoed to the raucous sounds of a stack of compilation CDs. As it was, the rest of the team were generally too busy getting the magazine off the ground to notice her or her lack of specific knowledge. Tom was a tolerant boss and recognised that any new employee needed time to adjust.

The second week at her new job had ended. Sian had spent the time working on gig listings, a comparatively easy job she could do over the phone to local venues and others in neighbouring big cities. In the evenings she had thrown herself into her education. Being out every night of the week, seeing a dozen rock bands, had left her with the tangle-haired, caffeine-fuelled appearance that fitted in with those of her workmates.

“Sian, or do you prefer Raven or maybe Minx?” Tom asked lightly that Friday morning as he came up to the desk.

“Whatever, you’re boss.”

“Sure.” Tom smiled, clearly realising he quite liked that fact, however short-term it might be.

“Well, I think you’ve spent enough time at your desk, you’ve got the gig diary work down to a fine art, so I think it’s time you got out interviewing. I’ve got a good one lined up for you, it’ll let you stretch your writing muscles too. I’ve been talking with Erik Salvensen, you know him? He drinks in ‘The Magpies’ occasionally. Anyway, you know his ‘Grafted Corpse’ have supported some of the big names, well he says Jed Coulson’s moved into the area. The Corpse supported his last tour about eight years ago and Erik keeps in touch. I’ve got Coulson’s address and number. I thought you could go up there and do a feature, you know something like ‘rock god at rest’; ‘on the seventh day’, something like that. It’ll be a real break for the ‘zine. Erik gave him a call while we were in the pub last night, and Jed’s up for it, so they’ll be no problems at the door. The thing is, are you up for it?”

Sian nodded, exuding the false enthusiasm she had become expert at since coming to work for Tom. She had no idea who ‘Grafted Corpse’ were, let alone Erik Salvensen or even Jed Coulson, but she was sure that an afternoon’s internet surfing would fill in the gaps soon enough and come sunrise she could appear his greatest fan. “No worries, Tom, I’ll get on the case. You want it by Thursday?”

“Sure. Call him now, Erik said it’d be best if you went by early tomorrow afternoon. Jed’s got a party there in the evening, so we know he’ll be at home and at least sober until the guests turn up.” Tom put a scrap of paper with a phone number and an address on it, on Sian’s desk.

“Right, I’m on it.”

“Great, it’ll be good to have a long piece from you. This mag’s about promoting the talent of everyone who works for it, not just my ego,” Tom laughed warmly, “and we need to get yours out there on show.”

Sian felt truly touched by Tom’s words and was eager to do her best. Maybe some day soon she would make the best rock chick reporter around. She felt surprisingly excited by the thought, maybe all the CDs and gigs were swaying her opinions and the chamber music CDs she had previously favoured would ultimately be consigned to the dustbin.

“I’m on it.” Sian repeated, gave a mock salute and smiled broadly.

Tom nodded, smiling and drifted back to his office.

In seconds Sian was typing Jed Coulson’s name into the search engine and punching his number into the telephone. After five rings a woman with a posh voice and a lisp answered and confirmed Sian was expected the following afternoon. Putting the phone down, Sian knew she had about twenty-four hours to become a Jed Coulson expert.


Sian got out of her small car self-consciously. Partly it was the large mansion that rose from the gravelled driveway in front of her. Partly it was the fact that this was a real test, her first interview with a real celebrity. A large part of it, though, was how she was dressed, she was sure Jed would recognise her clothes as straight from the shop that morning. The ‘BloodRain’ teeshirt still smelt of its wrapper, the studded belt below it shone as shop new, like the new leather thonged necklace and the silver rings which covered her fingers. The biker leather jacket and the matching leather jeans with their pristine laces down the side were all too unworn and had not shaped to Sian’s body. Even the leather boots she wore squeaked. At least her matted hair and her pale, sleep-deprived features were authentic. Sian walked up the steps to the front door, liking the feel of the tight leather that had warmed as it pressed to her.

Sian rang the bell and the door was almost immediately opened by a woman a couple of years older than herself. Her milk-white skin contrasted with the polished black leather she wore: a shiny corset that cinched her waist and thrust up her firm breasts above a miniskirt that did little beyond cup her bum, and patent ankle boots with spike steel heels. Lush black hair, done in a plait, stretched all the way to her waist.

“Sian Moore.”

“Come in.” The woman said and stepped aside.

Sian walked through the door into the entrance hall. It echoed to her and the woman’s footsteps. Sian looked up the broad staircase in front of her, painted in spiralling shades of red rather than the usual white. The stone floor was inlaid with a mosaic of BloodRain’s symbol picked out in tiles of their distinctive russet shade.

“Impressive.” Sian said.

The woman did not reply, she just walked on to a side door and Sian followed. They went through a lounge fitted with huge leather sofas in different shades, that russet again plus midnight blue and varieties of black. Expensive video and audio equipment and extreme modern art paintings lined the walls. Sian felt that even if you did not like his choices Jed Coulson had a taste and satisfied it without becoming tawdry like so many retired rock stars.
The woman went up to what looked like a stretch of wall, then reached out and pressing it in a particular location caused a panel to slide open. It revealed steps leading down.

“Down into the dungeon.” Sian joked.

“No, the entrance to that is off the day room.” The woman responded without humour.
Sian followed the woman down into a basement room. It was lit by recessed lamps and had a surprisingly warm glow about it. The walls were painted terracotta and the floor was again tiled with the swirling pattern.

“Thank you, Dalia.”

As Sian’s eyes adjusted to the subterranean light she heard the voice she guessed was that of Jed Coulson. She quickly glanced around the room. Along the walls were a few more paintings, most abstract, plus a photograph of an Oriental man. A life-sized statue of a dancing girl that Sian guessed came from Indonesia stood to one side, a large wooden sideboard in the corner and intricately carved wooden screens ran along another wall and in the corner nearest them stood a full-length mirror. There was a semi-circle of formal wooden chairs in the centre of the room grouped around what looked like a metal sink unit and a barber’s chair. Lounging on this was Jed. He was familiar to Sian from numerous shots she had found on websites. He looked about a decade younger than his years, his hair still long and dark, and undyed by the look of it. His frame was still lean and his face had the characteristic lines that he had always had, but no additional ones. Sian wondered if he spent most of his time frozen in suspended animation deep in these underground parts of the mansion. He could easily have walked on stage as he was, dressed with a studded belt slung across the hips of his tight leather trousers that ran into clompy boots. Only the long maroon-coloured heavy brocade jacket, stretching almost to his knees and the plain white shirt he wore it over seemed to diverge from a rock uniform.

“Mr. Coulson...” Sian said tentatively.

“Call me Jed, Sian.”

“...yes, Sian Moore.” She said, her stride broken by Jed’s interjection.

“Also known as Raven Minx, though I always thought Rachel Milner wrote those articles and I know she is now in New York.”

“Yes, she did, there was some mix up.” Sian replied, a little unnerved by Jed’s knowledge.

“And you seem to have done quite well out of it.”

“It got me a job.” Sian replied, a little defiant.

“Yes, that can be tough these days: to get started.” Jed said, his attitude softening to real sympathy. “So you get the chance to interview me, you are the lucky one.” Jed tone was now cheery.

“Yes, thank you for seeing me. I know you must be busy.”

“Not really, I’m retired you know. I have a few hobbies to keep me occupied, but it’s nothing on playing ten cities in twelve days.”

“Right. Well, that’s the angle we’d like to take, as my boss said, looking into the ‘rock god at rest’.”

Jed laughed. “That’s good. Well, let’s get started. Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the formal chairs.

Sian sat where directed and started up her recorder balanced on her knee. “It’s been eight years since you last toured, how do you fill your days?”

“Well, I still travel a lot, you can’t be on the rock scene for twelve, fifteen years without making friends all over the place. I hang out here, I host parties. I read a lot.”

“What kinds of things?”

“All sorts, a lot of philosophy, psychology, magic.”

“Sounds pretty heavy.”

Jed shrugged. “Well, a lot of these things I have been thinking about for years. Most bands like ours take various stances on things, how we feel about war, racism, that sort of thing, sometimes it comes out in the music, sometimes it’s just bubbling under.”

“BloodRain never really had a satanic image did it?”

“No.”

“But it used dark iconography.”

“Iconography? Good word, it’s nice to have a literate interviewer.” Jed smiled. “Yes, you see it around us even here, to me, it was more than just style, it was a representation of things I hold dear.”

“Would you consider yourself a pagan?”

“Certainly, that’s the box I would tick on the census. I don’t think anyone can go to the rural spots of this country or any other and not realise there is a force coursing through it, that it is a power, a very strong power.”

“Something you worship?”

“Let’s say respect, and explore.”

“So, to you, natural powers are important.”

“Yes, not only in the land, but in people too, and that is something I explore here.”

“Do you subscribe to any particular philosophy? Who is your guru?”

Jed laughed, but nodded, as Sian had expected, in the direction of the photograph of the Oriental man. “Luo Zhijian.” Jed said. “I probably have the largest collection of his original writings that there is. I used to spend a few months with him every year. He died three years ago.”

“Right.” Sian said, trying to work out how to spell the guru’s name.

“And Sabal Chandrasekar, I’m in regular contact with him and was out seeing him in Madras just last month.”

“Could you summarise what they teach?”

Jed laughed again, lightly. “They teach the reading of people and their personalities, how to measure people, and how to adjust what you measure.”

“Could you give me an example?”

“Yes, I suppose so. It’s probably easier to show the abilities they have helped me develop in practice rather than trying to explain them. That way I’m sure you’ll see what I mean.”
“Right. Okay, go on. Let’s give it a shot.” Sian said, more than a little curious.

Jed sat forward on his chair, closed his eyes and bowed his head. His breathing slowed and Sian found she was straining to hear it in the silent room and as she did, the rhythmic pattern calmed her. Then Jed snapped his eyes open and looked directly at her.

“You like to please, don’t you Sian? I can see that. I’ve had a lot of reporters through my door over the years, male and female, and they all think about themselves and what they can get out of it. Even the ones from the rock magazines, come in pressing their personalities, dressed with teeshirts from the bands they’re pushing at the moment, or something classic so that they look cool. But, you, I feel you’re different. You dressed for me, you got yourself nice new leathers to come and see me, you got yourself a teeshirt of my last band. That’s what I like to see, especially in an attractive woman like yourself.”

Sian blushed a little. She guessed Jed was playing with her, a lot of these rock stars were smooth talkers, they played a role, different roles, all the time. This smooth and hard image was clearly how Jed wanted to portray himself to the world through Tom’s magazine, for someone else it might be something different. However, Sian had to admit that she did feel flattered and her discomfort at dressing the way she had, had instantly faded and she was now pleased at all the choices she had made that morning.

“So, you are good at reading people.”

“Reading their minds.”

“Okay, reading their minds. But what can you do with that?” Sian was interested to hear Jed’s explanation. Superficially what he was saying seemed like some typical pop psychology mumbo-jumbo, but his conviction in it made her feel there had to be strands of truth within it.

Jed continued. “You know the mind has different components, things like will, consciousness, identity. I have always had an interest in all of those, and since I’ve stopped touring I have learnt how to manipulate them all.”

“Manipulate?”

“Yes, alter, change, control. That is what occupies much of my time.”

“You can alter people’s minds? Control them?” Sian was fascinated, if a little sceptical, she had read enough interviews to know that rock stars were quite likely to sound off about the latest esoteric fad.

Jed just nodded.

“Could you give a demonstration?” Sian asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“What sort of demonstration would you like? On one of my staff?” Jed raised his gaze slowly so it fixed on Sian. “How about on you?”

“Erm.” Sian hesitated, she wondered what she was letting herself in for.

“I know, why not yourself and one of my staff, fair’s fair. I’ll give you a demonstration of identity exchange.” Jed gave a mercurial smile, as if an idea was bubbling up. “I’ll switch you with Cella and then you’ll see how you would have appeared if you really had wanted to dress the way I like. Does that sound a good idea?”

“Erm, yes. I suppose so.”

Jed laughed, not unkindly. “You know so.” He strode up to Sian quickly, his hands extended before him and put them either side of Sian’s forehead, his fingers just touching gently.

Sian could feel warmth coming from Jed’s fingers as he stood there, his head bowed and his eyes closed. Then he snatched his right hand away and jerked it to point across the room to where the carved wooden screens stood. In that instant Sian had the strange feeling as if a sheet had been pulled from over her head. There was a moment of darkness and then she felt everything had calmed.

Sian felt strange. Her body felt constricted. She was standing in a room with weak light, shafts of it shining on to her. She looked down and gasped. In that instant she believed everything that Jed had told her. Gone were the teeshirt, the leathers, the new boots, instead her body was caressed by a skin-tight black rubber catsuit that glistened wherever the light hit it. Her body was cinched in at the waist by a shiny corset and her legs ran into thigh-length boots, rising on sharp heels that to Sian seemed impossibly high. As Sian moved her head she felt her plait running over her rubber coated back, and a slight breeze on the shaved sides of her head. Plait? Shaved sides? This was insane. Self-consciously Sian lifted her hand, noting her sharp black nails emerging from the fingerless gloves. She ran her hand over her head. Her hair rose into a crest then ran down her back as the long plait, but the sides were shaved, and somehow she knew the bare skin was tattooed with intricate patterns. As she stood there familiarising herself with the body she now wore she noticed other changes, the piercings that gave a weight to her tongue and to her nose, that tantalised her nipples as the rubber shifted gently over the studs, that rested in her brow and most of all that rode in the hood of her clit, teasing her with body warm metal on her clitoris every time she moved her legs.

“Sian.” Jed called.

Sian looked ahead and saw through the pattern of the carved wooden screen. Jed stepped up to it and pulled a panel in it open.

“Do you like it? Or should I say, do you like being Cella?”

Sian stepped forward, finding it surprisingly easy to walk in the heels. She loved the way the rubber rippled around her as she moved.

“Take a look.” Jed gestured to the full-length mirror.

Sian strode to it and looked. The image was that of a succubus. As she had determined, she was clad from head to toe in second-skin black rubber and the shaved parts of head were tattooed with lovely patterns. Silver rode her brow, her nose, her tongue. A pure metal collar sat around her neck with a ring at the front that Sian knew must be for a leash.

“Wow.” Sian said, the stud in her tongue modifying her speech to a lisp. “Amazing illusion.”

“No illusion. As I said, you’ve got Cella’s body. She was one of my so-called post-career groupies. This is how she dresses. I’ll see how she likes walking around in your body.”

Jed turned and Sian looked the way he was now staring, back to where she had been sitting just moments before. Correction, where she was still sitting. There was Sian Moore, dressed in her new leathers, her tape machine in her hand.

“Cella. What do you think of Sian’s body?”

“Master, it is undeveloped, there is so much more that could be done with it. She has only began to recognise her sexuality. These leathers are not bad. She could improve if she became yours, learned to serve you as this slave does.”

Sian stood speechless. It was unbelievable to hear someone else speaking with her voice, in her body. In her body. This was impossible. Sian shook her head and pinched herself.

“Show me how she should behave to me then.” Jed said.

“Yes, Master.” Cella lowered herself to the floor and crawled over to Jed. She turned Sian’s pert leather clad backside upwards for Jed to view before kneeling upwards. She slid off the jacket and teeshirt and, in moments, the bra beneath. Slowly she eased the leather jacket back on her naked top, and sat kneeling, clearly subservient to Jed.

“Master, does this slave please you? Can i please you?”

Jed smiled. “Yes, but first we have to get you dressed just right, just like Cella here. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

Jed laughed. “That’s very good. That is just how I would like Sian to be.”

Sian had been watching as if in a dream, it was all so unreal, but as she saw herself abasing herself in front of Jed her borrowed body became excited, her clit becoming rigid against the stud, her juices running wet.

“Sian, what do you think?” Jed turned to her.

Sian shook her head, it was all rather bewildering but she tried to focus. “A great trick Jed. What’s all this master and slave stuff?”

“Ah, I thought that’d interest you. You know I said there are different parts of the mind.”

“Yes, I remember, identity, consciousness, will.”

“Good girl. Well, you’ve seen how I can manipulate identity and consciousness, well I also have the power over will. Cella is totally committed to me, she can do nothing but obey me, she has no will, just my commands.”

“Oh.”

“Aren’t you going to ask for a demonstration of that too?” Jed asked.

Sian began to panic. She looked down at the subservient woman that looked like her and began to worry Jed could truly enslave her.

“Wouldn’t you like me to strip you of your will, turn you into one of my pets? You like to please: I knew you were ideal when you stepped in here, now I am going to see that I was right.”

Sian began running as best she could on the heels, but then something stopped her, there was no need to run. Her steps slowed and she turned to look back at Jed. She realised there was a curiosity inside her, she did want to stay here, she did want to find out what he would do. Sian found herself walking back to Jed, enjoying the way the rubber felt, enjoying how the studs touched her body, how she was striding on these heels.

“Did I tell you that I can also control desires?”

At that moment Sian felt the urge to kiss him flow right through her body and in seconds she had grasped him, pressing the rubber clad body she wore against him. probing deep into his mouth with her studded tongue. Sian broke from him, gasping with a sensation of pleasure.

“Excellent. You are just perfect. However, I think Cella wants her body back.”

Sian was powerless as Jed pressed his hands to her forehead. Then, again she felt as if the wrapping had been cast off. As her vision cleared she realised she was not in her own body. She tried to move but was unable, her body felt numb. It was not uncomfortable, just strange, again as if she was seeing it all in a dream. She realised she was by the wall. Jed and Cella were kissing and Sian realised how envious she was of Cella, how totally erotic she, and what she wore, were. Sian tried to dismiss the thought, guessing it had been planted by Jed, but somehow knowing that was not true.

Sian saw her own body, standing, its eyes closed and she guessed it was now just a shell. She panicked, fearing Jed had just trapped her here as she realised he must have moved her mind into the statue of the dancing girl by the wall. Sian was unable to look away as Jed and Cella led her unresisting body to the chair Jed had recently vacated. Sian could not look anywhere else, could not even blink her eyes and was unnerved looking at herself walking around, but something now was dulling the panic, and instead she was intrigued, fascinated by what would happen. In moments Sian’s body was laid in the barber’s chair. Then Dalia came into view and she and Cella began removing the remainder of Sian’s clothes. Jed stepped up to Sian’s naked, relaxed body. He lent forward delicately running his fingers over her naked breasts. Jed produced a hypodermic and pressed it Sian’s near side breast and emptied its contents. He set down a large bottle of a cloudy liquid on a space on the chair and filled the syringe three times more and injected into her other breast and in turn to the two cheeks of her bum. He rested, capped the hypodermic and stepped back.

Sian watched, believing what she saw to be a dream, believing what she saw to be real. It reminded her so much of preparing a corpse or of readying someone for prosthetic make-up to play an alien. Thinking that, she thought of the reflection she had seen of herself as Cella the Succubus. As Sian’s thoughts rushed she barely noticed the gradual but steady growth and firming of her breasts and bum. Her attention returned as she watched Jed take a seat and tuck the syringe back into a wallet that disappeared from sight. Now Sian looked as Dalia stepped up and turned and lowered the barber’s chair so that Sian’s head was over the sink unit. She pulled out a nozzle on a flexible metal tube and proceeded to shampoo and wash then dry Sian’s hair. Meanwhile Cella moved around Sian’s body and Sian realised she was piercing it and inserting silver rings and studs, in both nipples, her tongue, her brow and around the rims of her ears. They were soon bright points of light on her body. Sian was initially indignant that they were tampering with her body this way, no-one had asked her consent, but quickly that thought faded, replaced with remembrance of what they had felt like in Cella’s body and an eagerness to feel the sensation of the piercings for herself.

Sian’s attention was snatched away as somehow she heard an electric razor buzzing, Dalia was operating it. Quickly it made her pubis naked allowing Cella to pierce her labia and clitoral hood placing studs in both. Then Sian was unsurprised but excited as she knew Dalia was following up shaving the sides of Sian’s head, then plaiting her hair, shorter than her own, but long enough to allow Dalia beginning to make it a match for Cella’s style. In moments more the tattooing began, the intricate pattern a replica of one of BloodRain’s in the same russet shade.


Sian had no sense of how much time was passing. Like a dream she would notice changed features about her body, viewing Dalia and Cella’s work very much as Jed did, sitting, looking entranced from one of the formal chairs. Now she noticed a long plant-like tattoo spiralling up from her navel to her breasts. Then she saw Cella return from the screens first with a rubber catsuit then shiny thigh-length boots like her own. Sian watched as Cella and Dalia eased Sian’s body into its own rubber catsuit, the same russet browny-red colour that had characterised so much of BloodRain’s iconography. She could only watch as the rubber crept slowly up her body. It sealed her thighs, her bum, her bare pussy lips, her waist, her tattooed midriff, her back, then over her firm breasts, their nipples erect, to slide clinging up her arms to come together at the her neck. Dalia slid the zip closed shutting Sian’s body into its second russet skin, revealing every line, every curve of Sian’s flesh, but now coloured a glistening autumnal shade. Dalia began to paint Sian’s nails and then her lips the same distinctive reddy-brown. As Cella buckled the leather corset around Sian’s body, pulling in her waist and further accentuating her enlarged breasts, Sian realised that if she was ever to gain control of her body she would find herself looking like little more than a sexual toy, tailored precisely to Jed’s tastes. Sian told herself that whatever she looked like on the outside, she would retain the same personality, the same spirit. However, even that belief was shaken by Jed’s claims that he could affect minds as much as he could clearly alter bodies.

Sian could see that the matching rubber thigh-length boots that would be hers were being slid on. Sian could not deny the excitement she felt. From the time in Cella’s body, Sian knew how good the rubber clinging so tightly to her felt, and she felt an eagerness to feel what it was like to have her own. Then all the motion stopped, Cella and Dalia stepped back from Sian’s body and knelt on the ground either side of Jed who stroked his hands over their heads as if they were his pet lionesses. He was clearly looking over the shaved, tattooed, pierced, enhanced, rubber-coated body of Sian. He smiled, clearly pleased with the handiwork. As he rose from his chair and walked towards Sian’s statue, Sian felt a rising tension as she knew it might only be a matter of moments before she found herself in that body.

Jed stopped at the statue, his eyes looking into it. “You wanted to please me, and now you can, we have crafted you into the perfect being for me, the perfect gift for me. How ever much I like a mind, I do feel that it is vital it has a decorous setting to be in: one that clearly shows what that person is. I think your body now does that perfectly. It is that of a woman who burns to please me. Now, take up your body and we can ready you to take up that role.”

Sian was plunged into darkness as Jed grasped the statue’s head. This time she felt as if a heavy blanket had come off her, but in seconds she could blink and could see herself looking up at the ornate ceiling of Jed’s room. As she breathed against the constraints of the corset she could feel the nature of her new body: the piercings that stimulated her breasts and her sex, the stud in her tongue she knew Jed would want to tease him, the scent, the tightness, the slipperiness of the skin-tight rubber that was now her clothing, showing and accentuating every smooth line of her.

Awkwardly Sian shifted and got up from the chair, feeling strange as her boots touched the floor and she felt herself resting on the high heels. It was good to be back in her body, and she had to admit it felt exciting. First Cella and then Dalia came forward and kissed her and Sian recognised that as a sign that they were welcoming her as one of their own.

Sian strode slowly over to the mirror and looked herself over. Her hands cupped her full breasts which were sensitive and kept tingling each time they moved slightly in the smooth rubber. Sian turned back to Jed who stood silently as if watching to see if his experiment worked.

“So what happens now? I go to the press saying how the mad ex-rocker tied me down and shaped me to the way he liked. That will be a scoop, I’ll be on chat shows for the next year.” Sian sneered.

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t be leaving here for quite a while yet...”

It had been as Sian feared, he planned to imprison her here.

“... and even when you do, you’ll just have lovely things to say about me. Don’t you like how we’ve dressed you, you look so cool.”

Sian had to admit she was impressed by the look, she certainly looked more exotic than she ever could have imagined and wondered how impressed her workmates would be.

Jed walked slowly up to Sian. “The event isn’t over yet. I want you to be happy. I want you to be ecstatic at what you’ve become.”

Sian felt entranced, fascinated to see what Jed would do next. Having seen his power she had no doubt what he could do. Something felt excited by that. Could she truly become a woman like Cella, so clearly erotic, so devoted to her master?

Jed stood in front of Sian but not touching her. He held out his arms level with Sian’s eyes. He locked his hands together and closed his own eyes. Sian felt as if the floor was swaying around her. Then, suddenly Jed flipped his hands over and opened the palms. He seemed to be tugging against something and Sian felt as if a wave had crashed over her. She struggled to stay upright. Likewise Jed seemed to be battling against some physical rather than a mental force. He staggered back, but kept his hands held out, locked and pulling. Sian felt as if energy was being drained from her. Part of her said she could resist, she could escape, but the feelings of her body, shaped by him into that of a living sex toy told her it was too late, she was already his and should let herself ease fully into this pleasurable existence. Sian still felt some urge to struggle, to hold on, but there were seductive voices telling her to yield, to let go and let her master shape her into the most erotic creature, the sexiest woman she could be. Jed whipped back his arms and unlocked his hands, now only his right arm was in front of him.

In these last moments Sian felt as if Jed tugged at her will as if trying to free a sheet of plastic that had snagged on something on the ground, and then it broke. Sian gasped as her free will was totally stripped from her. In an instant she felt terribly relieved, extremely relaxed and grateful. She had no idea what to do and knew she should wait to be told. She looked expectantly at Jed and realised she had the burning desire for him to command her, not only to tell her what to do but to enslave her. Yet he looked tired; he was shaking from his exertions. His left hand was cupped, bouncing up and down as if her were juggling something. Then he lifted his hand and jerked, it was as if he had thrown a ball at Sian. She felt another wave of force, that pushed her back on her sharp heels. Then all was quiet, Sian felt a gratitude pass through her whole body, things had been uncertain and now were clearing. Slowly within her Sian felt changes, it was as if something was seeping into every part of her, shaping her opinions, her attitudes, shaping her identity, all that had been Sian was being subsumed by something new, something pleasurable, the personality that her master had created for her. A personality that loved this crafted body, a personality that could do nothing but obey its master. Any previous existence was fading, memories were washed away and all her old thinking was gone. She felt warm and happy as her new, true identity became fixed and she delighted in her existence.

Jed was breathing heavily and rested, stooped, holding himself up with his hands on his thighs. Cella walked up with a drink, he took it and drained it in one.

“Excellent.” Jed said catching his breath. “Minx.” He added simply.

The rubber-clad woman standing opposite him shuddered with pleasure as at the sound of her name her new personality locked into place. Minx shifted her weight in her tight boots, loving the squeal of the rubber that she wore, loving the sensation of the stud riding on her clit, loving the fact that she was ready to serve her master.

“Minx?”

“Yes, Master.” Minx replied stepping closer to him. “How can this slave serve you?” Sian Moore no longer existed, this woman was simply Minx.

Jed laughed in triumph almost as if he had been uncertain that the transformation would work, but now was more than satisfied.

“Cella, the collar.”

“Yes, Master.”

Cella came over with a metal collar like her own in one hand and a shiny leather leash in the other. As she saw them, Minx felt a thrill run through her as she knew she was going to fully enter slavery to her master and she loved the thought. He had made her so sexy, he was the one who owned her totally.

Jed took the collar and walked the few steps to Minx. He handed it to her. She took it and hesitated feeling unworthy to become so fully her master’s, but he nodded. Minx lifted the slim, metal collar, such a shiny metal, to her neck and closed it with a click. She gasped as her master reached forward and sealed it with a tiny padlock. He then attached the leash to the ring on the collar.

Without saying anything more Jed led his new pet from the room by her leash. She strutted behind him delighting that she so pleased him.

“Cella, Dalia, come.”

Minx’s attention was focused on her master so she paid little attention to where they went. She knelt when her master ordered and found she was in a large bedroom. Jed sat back in a deep armchair and released his flies. His cock emerged in an instant. Minx felt so privileged to see it.

“Minx, suck me off.” He said simply.

Minx did not have to be ordered twice, she slid across the floor on her shiny boots and slowly moved her head between his leathered thighs and gratefully took his cock into her mouth, using her tongue stud to the full, the knowledge of how to expertly please him, coming from somewhere deep within her. She slowed, knowing that it was pleasing him too much, but still eager to drink his spunk when it came. Minx rolled his cock in her mouth, taking it deep then letting it back up to her lips, working with her tongue and its stud, keeping him hovering on the edge of pleasure. Her master was reduced to nothing bar a grunting, shaking sexual creature, wanting to come, but wanting the pleasure prolonged.

“Now.” He finally muttered.

Minx’s tongue lapped a few more times at his cock and it began shooting into her, his legs, his hips crashing against her as he came, but she loved having his flesh, his muscles, his hot scent so close to her. She drank down his semen, grateful for the opportunity. Her immediate task complete Minx slid back from her master and knelt patiently awaiting his next command.

“Shit, that was good, so good. Oh yes, that was the best decision I’ve made in a long time to have you come out here.”

“Cella, Dalia. It’s time to make Minx feel welcome. I want you three to play together whilst I get ready for the party.”

“Yes, Master.” The three chorused.

Minx felt a little disappointed as Jed stepped from the room but in moments she felt Cella’s hands stroking over her bum and Dalia turning Minx over to lie beneath the other two women. Minx quivered with pleasure as tongues and fingers seemed to be everywhere teasing her most sensitive and excitable places. Cella eased down the zip of Minx’s catsuit and latched on to her nipples, knowing how the tease their studs to excite Minx further. Meanwhile Dalia dealt with Minx’s pussy which has become sodden and so loose as Minx had served her master. Dalia’s tongue was soon active, her own stud flicking over Minx’s clit, her fingers parting the lips of her pussy and digging deep. Minx was breathless and no words would come only the grunts and shrill sounds of the playbeing she had become. When the first of a string of orgasms swept her, her back arched as she grasped at the shapely bodies of her sisters in bondage, but they kept her pinned as they worked without pause at pleasing her. Minx had no sense of time, little sense of identity, all she knew was that she was a good rubber-clad slave and that the rewards were this pleasure.


“Come in.” Jed said as Dalia ushered in a tall blond man.

Already there were a few guests making the most of Jed’s large table of alcohol and trays of drugs. A couple were already stripping off and heading to the pool. Loud rock music penetrated throughout the ground floor of the house. Jed was sat in a large armchair, a handful of old friends and admirers grouped around him, Cella and Minx were sitting at his feet, their heads occasionally stroked, the odd snack dropped for them, just like the pets they were.

“Erik.” Jed said warmly jumping to his feet.

The two men locked in an embrace of old friends.

“Erik come and meet my new addition. You know Cella.”

Erik nodded and smiled at Cella.

“This is Minx.”

At the introduction, Minx rose on to her heels, her firm breasts thrust out in their russet rubber coating.

“Minx.” Erik said the name, savouring it as he looked over her shapely body, so obvious in its rubber.

“Minx, this is Erik Salvensen. I want you to look after him all this evening and tonight. He has been a good friend to me especially recently, and to you too, and I want you to reward him. Do whatever he asks.”

“Yes, Master.” Minx said in a pleased tone. She ran her eyes over the rocker, from the leather chaps he wore over his jeans to the black shirt and biker jacket on top. He was tall, blond and had a strength about him, Minx was pleased to be able to serve a man like this. She stepped close to him rubbing her rubbered thighs against his leg.

“I don’t know where you find them.” Erik joked.

“I could say the same to you, I’m just glad that you do.”

The two men laughed. Minx simpered as Erik’s strong hand cupped her bum.

“It’s been a long ride up here, so I think I could do with some relief and then another long ride.”

“Yes, Master.” Minx replied and let herself be led away, her sexy body moving so enticingly with every step she took.

THE END.

Contemporary UK Story: Like

 

Rather than being strictly a sequel to ‘More than an Ally’ and ‘That Personal Experience’ and briefly featuring two characters from them, this story is a kind of spin-off with some different sorts of changes brought about in a different way.

Like

It was the end of the afternoon at the Women’s Advice Centre and Sinead contemplated the evening ahead. Coming to the city, she had expected it to be very different. She had thought that with so many people here, she could not end up as lonely as she had. There had been that initial excitement, feeling that she could be an out lesbian, with her blue bobbed hair, and no-one would make any fuss. She guessed she had been a little naïve, simply imagining an attractive woman running into her somewhere and them finding themselves as life partners, even as wife and wife. However, even making use of all that the internet had offered, had, so far, not brought any dates. Too many of her messages were not responded to and from those that were, the conversations tended to peter out once she suggested meeting. 

Not for the first time, especially on a Saturday night, Sinead reminded herself, that even with greater fluidity in sexual orientation these days, only one in ten women would be gay. There would be some more that would be bisexual and might be interested, but it was not a huge pool to draw from. Added to that such statistics were a blanket figure and she acknowledged that some of them would be seventy or fifty rather than the twenty-five to thirty-five, she felt was her own age range. At times she wondered if having a car would help, but given the cost of renting here, that possibility had to be somewhere in the future. Then there would be all the hassle and further payments to park it somewhere. 

Perhaps, Sinead realised, she had been a little two-faced in coming to volunteer at the centre. At times it made her feel a little self-righteous that she was doing good stuff to help out women. However, especially at the end of the day, she began to feel guilty that she was hoping that the next woman who came in seeking advice would be attracted to her and they would walk off to a bar. They would spend the night together, Sinead solving all the woman’s problems and then they would fall in love. However, typically, those she met, even those in her age ‘category’, had problems with the men in their lives, whether partners, landlords or employers. While some were looking to leave these men, they seemed to have no interest in going on to an exciting life with a blue-haired lesbian. 

‘Coming for a drink?’ 

Sinead looked up abruptly from her keyboard realising that her mind had been wandering. She saw it was Carmen asking. While they did not do it after every Saturday session, the advisers at the centre would sometimes go on to a pub. On occasion, Sinead would join them, but less frequently these days. It was not the other women’s faults, but certainly seeing Carmen and Emmi, the wife-and-wife team who worked at the centre, Sinead found she could not suppress her jealousy. The two black lesbians were fifteen, perhaps twenty, years older than her. Meeting them initially had given Sinead hope that one day she would end up the same, though being a vegan, she preferred black denim over what the tight leather they wore. However, she had begun wondering if she was missing a trick for not adding some faux leather or shiny PU items to her wardrobe. 

Sinead hesitated. 

‘Have you got a hot date lined up? 

‘I wish.’ 

Carmen said nothing in response as if waiting for Sinead to add to that. As she thought about what to say, Sinead began to wonder if Carmen had divined her problems and, without being explicit about it, was offering help. 

‘You and Emmi … well, you know how did you meet; get together?’ 

Carmen hesitated, ‘well, we met here. We just sort of hit it off. Sorry, I know that’s not much help.’ 

‘At least you understand. I thought … well, not that it would be easy but that there would be more opportunities for me well, to meet queer women. It’s good knowing you and Emmi, but …’ 

‘Look maybe you are overthinking it,’ Carmen pulled on her ox blood biker jacket and stepped into the office Sinead used. ‘Don’t head out there - and I don’t just mean in person, but online too - looking for a soul mate, just get to know more women, find ones who like what you like and then … well.’ 

‘I wish it worked like that.’ 

‘I am sure it will. You know, I work magic.’ Carmen waved her arms around. ‘I am your black lesbian fairy godauntie and I say it will work for you.’ 

Sinead grinned at that. Her sense of failure was swept aside for now. 

‘Come on, get that duffel coat of yours and come to the pub. Maybe me and Emmi need to take you out shopping one evening, I know lesbians, especially the white ones, seem to think dumpy is the required style, but woman, I don’t think you’re showing yourself to your best.’ Carmen gave a deep laugh. 

Sinead put up no resistance and soon found herself out of the centre with Carmen, Emmi, Hilda and Kalisha, and heading to the pub. Sinead knew that if Emmi and Carmen liked it, at least it would be LGBT friendly. She found her spirits lifting and once she had a beer inside, she was soon forgetting what had so plagued her. While during the evening, especially when she caught sight of a woman who she felt was her type, the despair nudged her, with her colleagues, she was able to chase away such thoughts, at least for the moment. 

That night, a little drunk after some hours in the pub, Sinead went online and, tagging her accounts with the rainbow banner, went in search of a woman who might like what she liked and then might like her. 

**** 

Hannah sat scrolling down her social media feed. She was feeling pretty dissatisfied but not really in a way that she could resolve. It was not supposed to be this way. She had a reasonably interesting, if demanding, job, teaching business in a college and, added to that, in the past month she had come out as bisexual. It had been as a result of her finding herself infatuated with a woman she had met at a conference. While she had only had boyfriends in her life, she had come back accepting that, if nothing else, there were some women out there who could spark arousal within her. 

Rather tentatively, but then with more confidence, Hannah had accepted the bisexual ‘label’. However, in reality, very little had changed and now the initial euphoria had begun to fade. She guessed that was only to be expected. Hannah was not really certain what a bisexual woman looked like. Indeed, these days it was often difficult to distinguish a lesbian from a straight woman or a gay man from a heterosexual one. Many of the ‘rules’ of the past had become blurred and she guessed that with – to an extent at least – the normalization of same-sex relationships, ‘ordinary’ people could love their own agenda without having to feel they had to make it obvious from the first. Still, there were moments when Hannah yearned for the buzz of putting on what she might deem ‘bisexual’ outfits or having what would be deemed a suitable haircut to signal her broader orientation. At times, she worried she looked too much like an office worker perhaps a decade or two older than her real age. 

Seeing herself reflected in her laptop’s screen, Hannah pulled back her shoulder-length hair from her face and tried to envisage what she would look like with something cut much tighter than any style she had had before. Now she found she had a bit of a mission for her scrolling. Knowing women often posted selfies of their outfits and hair styles, she wondered if she might find some inspiration, especially from other bisexual women she could link to. She caught sight of a woman, much her age, in a full-length image showing off a black denim outfit though with a floral-on-black top. She had short swept-across hair dyed blue and large glasses. The name above the shot said ‘Sinead is Searching’ with a brief description and a small LGBT icon. However, it was the boots that caught Hannah’s eye: sleek in metallic bronze and with thick soles. She liked how they stood out and imagined herself owning a pair. She clicked to ‘Like’ the shot then quickly wrote, ‘cool boots’ beneath it. 

Hannah now looked at the other comments beneath the image, some of which were negative. As she did she wondered why others could not see how cool this Sinead’s boots were. Of course she liked them, she had a very similar pair in her wardrobe, though in patent black, and wondered why she had not worn them yet. Now Hannah focused on her question about hairstyle. She put up a selfie shot from her computer showing her current style and asked for suggestions about how she should have it to match her being bi. She followed up looking at people who had tagged hairstyles then found a message from ‘Sinead is Searching’ with a link to some images of under-shaved hairstyles. For a moment Hannah felt a buzz considering shaking up everyone at the college by coming in with one of the more extreme versions. 

‘Thanks,’ Hannah typed back beneath Sinead’s posting, ‘though I really like your under-shaved bob and in blue!’ 

Moments later a little blushing emoticon appeared in response. It was no surprise that Hannah liked the style, she thought as she ran her hand over the under-shaved side of her head. She had really come to like blue as a hair colour herself and had picked something quite like Sinead’s when she last had it tidied up. She clicked to follow Sinead and scrolled back through her recent postings. 

Hannah stopped on the picture of a black top but with a floral pattern across it. Perhaps it was not what she would have usually selected but now she felt it would be something she might not only wear, but like. 

‘I’d like this, I imagine wearing it with a pair of faux leather trousers and DM boots.’ Hannah typed beneath the picture. 

She had bought a faux leather jacket the previous year, though she wore it rarely these days. Her DM boots were the plain kind but she was coming to like the patent variety. Having typed, Hannah dropped her left hand down to her lap. Distantly she ran her fingers over the smooth black faux leather of her tight trousers. With the other she scrolled through more of Sinead’s entries, for some reason finding herself in tune with a lot of what she was saying. 

The the notification popped up that Sinead was following her, followed by a flurry of likes of things Hannah had posted. Then things went quiet for a while. Hannah got up from the computer, for some reason feeling very good in the floral-on-black top and the faux leather trousers she wore. She made herself a coffee and thought of something to do aside from spending the evening scrolling through messages. However, she felt a buzz when thinking of that and was soon back on her computer. A notification showed her something from her new friend. 

‘Anyone up for seeing Jess Jennings – performance poet?’ 

Hannah looked at the link through. It showed a woman much her age but dressed in a turquoise velvet suit; a black buttoned shirt beneath. Like Hannah, her hair was blue though a lighter shade, her glasses were rectangular framed rather than round and a gem glinted from the side of her nose. 

‘I do like her look,’ Hannah responded to Sinead. 

Hannah guessed she felt some affinity with this poet and thought maybe that was because their choice in glasses and nose jewellery were the same. Sinead did a like to the comment. Then a direct message came to Hannah and she was unsurprised that it was from Sinead. She did not usually respond to direct messages as they generally originated from men who looked alright on the surface, but sharply proved to be creeps. 

‘Hannah, are you looking for a girlfriend?’ 

Hannah felt a sudden jolt. Perhaps Sinead was a woman, but maybe she had a similar objective to the men. However, as she reflected on it, Hannah felt she could excuse Sinead. It was not accompanied by a photo of any part of Sinead’s body and she guessed, given that they seemed to have similar tastes, it was not an extraordinary question. Yet, Hannah had only recently acknowledged her bisexuality and then all because of one woman. Was she really ready to consider being asked out by a woman? Perhaps that was feeble and she told herself to baulk from a woman making an advance was sexist and pretty narrow-minded. 

‘Sorry! Too soon? I leapt in there. I guess you probably have a partner.’ 

‘No, not at present.’ 

‘But that doesn’t mean you’re thinking of having a girlfriend at the moment?’ 

Hannah hesitated. While she felt a bit of a thrill in the thought that, with a few words she could be dating a woman, something held her back. To counter that came the thought of whether she really could consider herself – represent herself – as bisexual if she had not even dated a woman. Then, she felt she was being stupid. 

‘Yes, I’d like to have a girlfriend … and I like the fact that maybe she would be you …’ 

Hannah held back for a second then pressed to send. She felt slightly dizzy. The room around her seemed to shift. She grasped the desk and then closed her eyes until she felt steady again. As she opened her eyes, the little room that she and Sinead used as an office looked different. Hannah wondered why that was, then worried she was tired. Sinead and her were going out shortly and she had really been looking forward to seeing Jess Jennings in action. 

Hannah closed down her computer and stood up from the chair, her tight faux leather trousers creaking a little as she did. Sinead bowled into the room clearly with everything in place to go out. 

‘Are you ready?’ Sinead asked with a smile. 

Hannah felt that Sinead’s voice sounded unfamiliar. She dismissed this as ridiculous. They had met at that conference, Sinead had been at something in the same venue and had dated from the day after that. Though they were not living together yet, they both spent a lot of time in each other’s flats and Hannah realised that her mind had been drifting on to thoughts of perhaps suggesting marriage. 

Hannah grinned and Sinead was unresisting as she closed and pressed her lips to her girlfriend’s. As a couple, they were quite a contrast, it seemed only their blue hair and love of dark clothing matched. Sinead was broad and curvy whereas Hannah was tall and all angles. However, given that they had so many likes in common, Hannah guessed it was not a bad thing that they had some differences. 

Sinead’s lips were so smooth and as Hannah found herself opening her mouth and gently sliding her tongue up against that of her girlfriend, she found the sensation delightful. For some reason, while she was sure they had often done this – even on the night of their first date – it felt very new. Sinead’s hands cupped Hannah’s bum, pressing down on the faux leather that she had found herself loving. Again, while she was sure she had liked the shine and creak of the material for so long, dressing like this was also surprisingly novel. 

Finally the two women broke. Hannah went to zip herself into her patent black DM boots and pulled on the faux leather biker jacket she loved. She glanced in the mirror and for a moment her reflection surprised her. However, quickly, memories of having her hair cut and dyed this way, of buying these glasses and having her nose pierced explained everything she saw, as to be expected. In minutes, they were stepping from the flat and catching sight of herself dimly reflected in the glass of the block’s entrance, Hannah again felt a little surprised to see herself as a leather – at least faux leather – clad lesbian stepping out with her girlfriend. However, that sensation quickly passed and instead she began looking forward to the performance. 

**** 

Hannah and Sinead almost fell into Sinead’s flat, laughing. After the performance they had had a couple of drinks and even got to chat to Jess herself. Their blue hair had caught her attention. While her poetry had shown her to be straight, the two young lesbians felt an affinity to her and her dry humour. Hannah had been initially aware of Sinead being slightly on edge as if expecting something to go wrong. However, once they were in place, sat hand in hand and especially after the performance chatting with the star, she seemed to relax a great deal and, in turn, Hannah felt eased in herself. Those surprises about who and what she was, how she dressed, her style and how good it was to be with Sinead, had all disappeared. It was then she had realised that tonight they were going to have sex. 

Without switching the lights on, Hannah led Sinead from the bedroom and pulled her in for a long kiss, before slipping off Sinead’s jacket. In a collision of fingers, they then unbuttoned and slid off their tops and were quickly out of their trousers. Hannah found a buzz as she realised she would be sliding back into these clothes and probably heading to work in them the next morning. Soon they were naked beneath the duvet and the couple lay looking at each other in the low light for some time, fingers reaching out to touch skin and brush excited nipples. Then the kissing resumed, but this time Hannah moved away from her lover’s mouth and soon was using her tongue to toy with her nipples. For some reason she felt as if she was discovering Sinead for the first time and that excited her even more. Soon she was sliding down Sinead’s body, guiding her girlfriend on to her back and spreading her thighs so she could slide her head between them. 

Hannah could envisage what she was about to do and, if asked, was sure she would have said she had done it before and indeed many times with Sinead. However, as she ran her tongue over the girlfriend’s slick lips and nuzzled at her hardening clitoris, she felt as if these were new sensations. She found that she enjoyed the scent and then the taste of Sinead as if these were things that she could not happily live without. As she lapped further into Sinead’s opening sex and then worked with her fingers until her lover was beginning to mew and then moan aloud with pleasure, Hannah felt that this was precisely what she should be doing. She was, after all, an out-and-out blue-haired lesbian and there was no question about that. Sinead’s fingers raked Hannah’s body pushing her own arousal further as she served her girlfriend. Sinead arced and let out a long groan then shuddered, her body quivering with the sensations. 

Hannah knelt up, and back letting the duvet slide away from her as she watched Sinead, her girlfriend – and she was increasingly convinced – her future wife, cavorting and squirming pleasurably with all that Hannah had brought into her. Hannah now shifted on her knees and dropped back down on the mattress next to Sinead. She could make out that her girlfriend was grinning widely as much as the first time they had done this. Sinead took Hannah’s hand and lifted it to her lips to kiss. 

‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. 

Hannah felt surprisingly pleased that she had brought her lover successfully to orgasm. 

‘Now, would you like me to do that you?’ Sinead asked seductively. 

Hannah found herself grinning, but then responded softly, ‘I’d really like you to do that.’

 

THE END

Contemporary Europe Story: Charlotte Typed - Part 1

This story is set in the modern day UK and is about a woman being drawn into a dominant-submissive relationship. There are a large number of people advertising for such relationships on the internet, though the one featured here goes further than they would and involved mind control aspects too.

This is my entry into the 'mind controlled through online chat' genre. Influential in this category are ‘Blind Faith’ by Covert Hypnotist, ‘Admirer411’ by URN My Power, ‘Dream Flight’ by Crystaliss42 and to some extent the whole Master PC series started by JRParz. You can find these stories by searching the internet.

There is subliminal mind control going on right throughout the story but those who want it a more direct and immediate should head to the final quarter of the second part. Some of the discussion between Charlotte and her master is adapted from correspondence I had with latexslut to whom this story is dedicated.

Charlotte Typed – Part 1
By Tang

Charlotte Griffith sat at her computer keyboard with a sense of purpose. She was fed up with the water leaking out of both her shower and bath across the floor every time she washed. She had been so pleased when she had been able to buy this apartment the previous year. However, she had soon realised that, unlike when she rented she could no longer simply call up the letting agency and get them to send someone to fix the problem, with the owner paying for the repairs. Now the cost fell to her.

Charlotte’s long working hours as an accountant meant she had had little time to explore the town where she now lived. Until two months ago, when her boyfriend, Matt, had dumped her for some airhead bimbo he had met in a bar, she had usually rushed off as soon as possible on Friday night to be with him and only arrived back late on Sundays. She had loved the house that had come as part of his job, training horses, and knew she was going to miss it, possibly more than she was missing him.

As Charlotte pulled up her internet browser, she wondered if she could do the repairs herself. Maybe it would be better to check out DIY stores in the area, rather than just hiring in someone. Charlotte did have a fantasy of meeting some half-clad muscled builder type, but she guessed that she could run into one of them in a shop as much as him coming to fix her bathroom. In addition, he would then see that she was an independent woman who could tackle her own jobs, and that would put off any moron who thought he could patronise her. Asking for advice on the best sealant could be a good way to start a conversation. It was probably best to be reasonably well informed about what she might need before venturing to the stores.

Charlotte shook all her speculations from her head and composed herself. She always thought thinking up terms to type into a search engine was like working out the correct question to ask some mystic oracle, and from her experiences, the answers were just as cryptic. Anyway, she typed in ‘rubber seal bath’ and sat back to see what would come out. Of course she got a trillion answers. She glanced down the confusing descriptions. Her eye was caught by one which said ‘RubberMaster’. It sounded like a company and even if it just listed the different products they supplied it would be a start. Charlotte clicked on it and was linked through to a page of text on a bright background. She realised it was a story, not what she had been looking for. However, she caught sight of the name ‘Charlotte’ who was clearly a character in the story and that piqued her interest.

Charlotte scrolled to the top of the story and saw it was entitled ‘Bathed in Rubber’. She could see now why the search engine had picked it up. The story was about a journalist from a science magazine who had been unimpressed by the answers given by a leading robotics scientist and had began snooping around his lab. She had been captured, and her suspicions had been revealed to be true. The Charlotte in the story had been imprisoned and lowered into a bath of a strange kind of rubber that had coated her entirely and turned her into a life-sized rubber doll. Implants had subverted her mind and she had emerged as a gleaming black robot, sold by the scientist, effectively as a sex toy.

Charlotte gasped as she reached the end of the story. She had been enthralled by it, and realised that it had excited her. She was only wearing the nightdress she had put on after her bath, and her nipples were now pressed tight against the material, tantalisingly irritating. Charlotte’s attention snapped back and she realised her left hand had jammed into her pussy, stroking away as her right hand had span the mouse wheel to roll the text up in front of her. Charlotte tingled all over. She had never been aroused by just reading. Her few boyfriends had always been such direct, uncommunicative men, strong and handsome admittedly, but for them sex had been just physical, never mental.

Charlotte knew there were people who got turned on by all sorts of things, but shiny black rubber… Then she realised those words made her tingle. Was she some kind of pervert, a fetishist, was that not the right term? It made her feel deliciously naughty to think she had stumbled across some wicked secret until now unknown even to herself. Charlotte wondered what to do next. She saw that the website had a range of stories and she dipped into others written by this so-called RubberMaster. She managed to get through one about a woman becoming a ladies maid, dressed in a skin-tight black latex outfit, but by the time she was mid-way through her third, concerning a pack of latex-skinned catpeople, she was pumping her fingers into her wet pussy and coming with a real force. Charlotte tossed her head back, breathing heavily, stroking at as much of her aroused body as she could.

Charlotte slumped in her chair exhausted. She had not felt that aroused or simply that good in a very long time. She felt a little guilty too, but something inside her told her there was no need for that, she was an independent woman, free to enjoy herself however she wanted. Charlotte was still connected to the webpage. She scrolled down to the end of the story. She decided she would come back to read the outcome on another night when there was nothing on television as there was quite a lot left in this section and a couple of other chapters she had not even touched yet.

Charlotte noticed the link at the bottom to send an email to the author. She giggled a little, again feeling naughty as she decided to contact him. However, as am mailto box appeared she felt excited. Actually contacting him, seemed to be like her admitting that she was part of the club; a real fetish connoisseur.

“RubberMaster, I’ve just read ‘Bathed in Rubber’ and thought it was really good.” Charlotte typed. Then she deleted ‘good’ and replaced with ‘hot’.

Charlotte was about to type her name, but then held back. What if he was some kind of pervert who would end up stalking her? She thought for a moment and typed “Yours, Rubber” and then she wondered what to write: “Slave” seemed a bit extreme, “Robot” or “Servant” did not sound right, so eventually she settled on “Pet”. Charlotte quickly read the brief email then hit the Send button, excited by her daring.

Charlotte was about to switch off her computer, when another email appeared. The address read ‘RubberMaster’ and she tingled as she realised that he had responded. Quickly she clicked on it.

“rubberpet,” it started, “Master is always pleased to receive messages from new submissives who enjoy his writing.”

Charlotte read the message. It seemed rather terse, but she guessed he had written it quickly so as to catch her before she logged off. She thought about being described as a ‘submissive’. She wondered what had given her away as new at this.

“Master, how could you tell I was new?” Charlotte typed quickly.

With her message sent off, Charlotte pulled up a dictionary website in another window and typed in ‘submissive’. In seconds it came back with an explanation about how this was a person in a sort of sexual game who behaved like a slave or a pet to someone who dominated them. The short hand for this was ‘sub’. Charlotte clicked through to the cross-reference about ‘Dominant’ and learnt a little more about the other side of such a partnership. She guessed RubberMaster considered himself a dominant, or ‘dom’, as phrases like ‘Master’, ‘Mistress’, ‘Sir’, etc. were apparently common forms of address. Charlotte wondered about herself, was it true that in addition to being sexually interested in rubber she also had submissive tendencies? As she thought of that it certainly stirred something inside her. She thought back to the rubber-clad maid kissing the boots of her owner. She realised that was an exciting image for herself, especially as in her mind’s eye she could see herself in the maid’s role.

“slave, because you used upper case letters for your name. Only Doms use upper case, their slaves always indicate themselves in lower case, hence you are not ‘RubberPet’, but ‘rubberpet’.”

“Yes, Master.” Charlotte typed back, holding her breath as she did. “I” She typed, and guessed that was wrong. “i” she changed it to, “am sorry. Your slave, rubberpet.”

As she hit Send again, Charlotte realised that her arousal was being stoked up again. It was rare for her to be so excited again so quickly after coming, but she recognised that this game was turning her on more than she could have ever guessed.

“rubberpet, that is good, you are a fast learner. Master would enjoy training you online. If you truly wish to be my slave, read up on D/s, Dominant/submissive relationships, then email me no sooner than 24 hours from now, telling me what you want to become, and how you will handle it. Master.”

Charlotte jerked back from the screen. She felt herself quivering with excitement. She kept telling herself that it was all a game, but somehow it felt deeper than that. She wanted to email back immediately that she wanted to be his slave, but guessed that that would not work, he had given her a command and if she wanted to behave like a slave she had to obey.

With some more experimentation, Charlotte soon found herself on webpages outlining all about being dominant or submissive, and the more she read, the more she was in turns excited and alarmed. There were images of leashed and naked women and men, bowing down before owners. The ones she liked the best were those dressed in exotic shiny black, and she found herself saving some to her hard-drive. Yawning, Charlotte glanced at her computer’s clock and saw she had been online for hours. However, as she reluctantly logged off, she felt she had achieved her mission. She knew for certain that she had submissive traits, Master had been so right about that. She had learnt a bit about how to communicate, the safe words and that, however much she yielded, it had to be consensual to work.


Charlotte sat impatiently in front of her computer. She had rushed home from work, ate a meal and showered. She felt she had to be sexy so was sat here with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and nothing on bar her black silk dressing gown, something she had picked up on a holiday in Thailand a couple of years before, but which had not been out of her drawer since. During the day she had occasionally wondered what she was doing; whether she was taking a risk by being in contact with a man whose real name she did not know. Then again, he did not know hers, and the anonimity of the internet made her feel reassured. She could simply delete his emails or even unplug the computer if she felt at all uneasy. On the other side, she felt she was being mature, taking decisions about her sexuality and indulging in a game which, for the first time in ages, gave her a real thrill.

Charlotte glanced for the thousandth time at her watch, and then, with a shock, realised that the twenty-four hours was up. Quickly she began typing her email, with the words that she had gone over in her mind throughout the day. They were heavily influenced by the dialogue she had read in the stories and she hoped they hit the tone that RubberMaster was looking for.

"Master, this slave begs that you will become her Master, she knows she is not worthy, she knows she is inexperienced, but she will try as hard as she can to be a good slave. Please take the freedom of this unknowing young woman, and, with your experience, make her into the best slave she can be for you."

Charlotte sent off the email and sat, incredibly impatient. She wondered if she would ever get a response. In her mind she ran through what had happened to the Charlotte in the story and realised the thought of that was making her pussy increasingly loose and wet, especially knowing that RubberMaster had written that story among many. Charlotte shuddered with a thrill as she suddenly saw there was a response in her in-box. It was from RubberMaster. She quickly clicked it open.

"RubberMaster welcomes the plea from this unknowing young woman. He is pleased that she already seems more knowledgeble about proper forms of address. Yet RubberMaster does not simply take up such women who offer themselves on a whim. If you truly wish to become His slave you must beg twice more, exactly at 1.15 p.m. tomorrow and at 10.25 a.m. the following day. By that evening you will know if you have been selected to be enslaved by Him."

For a moment Charlotte was disappointed, she had been fired up to start the salacious emailing right now, but from what she had read, she knew that the ritual was all a part of it. She guessed that RubberMaster was busy and he had to know he was not going to waste his time if he chose to correspond with her. She realised too, that this was a test. These times would be when she was at work, though the afternoon appointment had presumably been set to fall during a lunch break. She now understood that RubberMaster was seeing how much she would put herself out in order to correspond with him.

Charlotte had worried that the next two days would drag, but she found she was reading more and more online: RubberMaster's stories and others like them, plus advice websites because she was eager that she would not considered an amateur in the D/s world. She was slightly apprehensive when the time came at work for her to email RubberMaster again. She was glad she could contact him through a web email account rather than her work one, but even so she was prickling with nervousness as she typed in the sentences she had mapped out in her mind.

"Master, this slave begs to become your possession. She beseeches you to take her and cover her in skin-tight rubber, so that she may sit at your feet attired for your pleasure, wearing your collar, led by your leash. This slave will be so obedient, fulfilling your every command without a thought. Her whole being will be yours to order, her whole identity will be fashioned by you, my only Master."

Charlotte's breathing was shallow and she realised that beneath her work clothes she was becoming incredibly aroused. For the first time she envisaged truly what she was saying. Now she was wondering what it would be like to wear the clinging shiny rubber clothes that she had seen on so many websites. What would it be like to give up her initiative, to leave decisions to this man? As she thought of that, she realised that this went far deeper into her psyche and that, in fact, she welcomed that abandonment of control. Such yielding would allow her to be so sexy yet without responsibility for her actions; responsibility was something an owner dealt with. With these thoughts throbbing in her mind, Charlotte slunk off to the ladies and for the first time in her career found herself at work suppressing little grunts as she fingered herself towards some relief.

Charlotte must have checked the email account a thousand times whilst at work and continued again at home, until she was almost slumping asleep over her keyboard. When she woke the next morning it was with apprehension. Had she written the wrong thing? Had it been too much or too little? Up until now she had always assumed he would accept her, but how would she cope if she was rejected?

At 10.25 Charlotte simply typed "Master, your slave awaits your command." She realised now that it was not up to her what she became, the only way she could encourage him take her was by yielding to his desires, suppressing her own and proving she was totally unable to disobey. This time she was prepared for a lack of response because he had said she would know that evening. However, she rushed home, wondering when RubberMaster considered the evening to begin. She stripped naked almost the moment she got through her front door. She was buzzing as she opened her email account and saw the posting from RubberMaster headed 'I take ownership'.

"rubberpet, you are now my slave. I own you entirely. Your body and mind, slave, belong to me, to use as I choose. You will follow these regulations. You will rent a post office box to which items can be sent to you. This will be done within four days. Any messages that you send to me as my slave will be prefixed 'Steel'. If they are not then they will not be considered to be from one of my slaves. Any messages prefixed 'Paper' will allow you momentarily to step outside your slave role and ask questions about procedure. I acknowledge you are a novice and will need clarifications in the ways of a slave. If at any time I tire of you as my slave or you feel that no longer can you continue in this role, prefix your message 'Unbuckle'. This will be the final message to me you will ever send. My first command is that you abase yourself on the floor and sexually arouse yourself with your hands imaging that you are performing for me. Once you attain orgasm you will thank me for granting it."

That was the entire message and Charlotte read it twice more to absorb all the details. She was pleased that Master had sent her the safe words that she had read were vital for any relationship between a dominant and their submissives. Now, however, she felt both excited and frustrated. She hesitated then got down on the floor in a way she felt a slavegirl would. She felt proud that she had already stripped off, it would have seemed to wrong to be dressed now. Somehow, she felt her master, she shivered with a thrill as she thought of him as that, was looking on approvingly. Charlotte found herself incredibly aroused and it did not take her long before she was shuddering in orgasm. Whilst she was not averse to playing with herself, this time it seemed to have a much richer quality and she was so pleased that she had persisted with this contact with RubberMaster. With her fingers still covered with her own juice Charlotte scrambled naked back to her seat.

Quickly Charlotte began typing her thanks to her master. She stopped herself, realising that in her rush she was going to make mistakes. She went back to the title line and started it 'Steel: thanks from rubberpet'. Then she thought for a moment. "Your slave thanks you Master for granting her her orgasm."

In moments there was a response headed 'Steel: Command'. The message read: "Good slave. Now you will never touch yourself sexually unless I command it. You belong to me and I decide when my toy is played with, no-one else is permitted to decide that and most certainly not a slave herself."

For a moment Charlotte felt concerned. This man was denying her access to her own body. She knew there were men who got upset if their partners played with themselves, feeling that their entire satisfaction should come from them. It was not surprising, then, that with RubberMaster acting in an even more explicitly dominant role he would demand the same.

Charlotte replied leaving Master's title. She wrote simply. "Command understood, Master."

The response was quick: "Sleep well, my slave."

Charlotte took that as her being dismissed for the evening. She stared at the computer screen still feeling aroused, but also constrained from touching herself to do anything about it. She was sure that Master was fair and he would regularly give her release, but she was also coming to understand that building up expectation in her would make that release so much more powerful and that in turn gave her a feeling of excitement. Charlotte retired to bed naked and found that sleep took her quickly.


It was two days since Charlotte had rented herself a post office box and excitedly sent her master the details. Nothing happened then until she received a card through the letterbox saying something had arrived. It had to be from Master as he was the only one who knew the details of her box. Charlotte hurried down to the office in her lunch break. She had no idea what to expect. The package turned out to be a tube which made no sound when she shook it. She was self-conscious about opening it at work but the moment she was behind her front door she tore it open and that inside something black and slippery was lining the tube. Immediately as she smelt it, Charlotte knew it had to be rubber. Now she realised this was the first step in her truly living up to her name, she might be Master's pet, but, as yet, owned no items of rubber clothing. Charlotte chided herself for not ordering some straight off. Then again, it felt all the more special that Master was determining how she dressed. She pulled out the rubber to find it was a black microskirt without a zip, that was clearly meant for her to ease into. Along with it was a matching top. She wondered how Master knew it would fit, she could not remember sending him her sizes.

Once the skirt was clear of the tube two other packages came loose and slid out. The first, Charlotte saw, was a webcam; that made sense too. It would add to the frisson if she knew Master could see her performing for him. The second was a little more bewildering. It was shiny black, the shape of a beetle and a bit smaller than the palm of Charlotte's hand. There was an elasticated belt attached to it. Then as she looked at it she realised that it was a kind of vibrator that would sit on her pussy lips and press against her clitoris. There seemed to be no controls and then she realised that Master had the controls and, that, like a mobile phone or a pager, contacting it would make it vibrate. Charlotte tingled at that thought, imaging Master would command her to wear it and would stimulate her whenever he chose no matter where Charlotte might be or what she might be doing. To give over such control had a delicious edge to it. Charlotte was beginning to understand that she had truly submissive elements in her make-up and Master was very cleverly revealing them to her.

Charlotte quickly shed her clothes and pulled on the skirt. It had a very slippery interior which made it easier to get on than she had expected. Soon her bum was coated in so tight and so shiny rubber and she knew that this was a material that she truly did find arousing. The feel of it clinging to her so tightly and with such a sheen was magical. Then she took off her bra and eased the top on, sliding her arms into the sleeves and quickly slipping her breasts into the clinging rubber but leaving her midriff bare. She had a real urge to finger her pussy but knew that she had to wait for Master to reward her.

Quickly Charlotte stepped into the belt of the vibrator and slid it up her legs and awkwardly under the tight skirt. However, soon it was in place. Its shiny plastic surface was soon warming to the temperature of her skin, but it sat there passively and Charlotte was so eager for it to come to life, as if it would be like Master reaching out to touch her himself. With so many erotic thoughts running through her mind over the past days and the prohibition against her pleasing herself, Charlotte knew that the sexual urges inside her were barely being kept subdued and a simple action by Master could trigger a climax without her doing much to aid it.

Charlotte hurried to her computer and quickly connected up the webcam as the instructions accompanying it directed. Finally she typed in a URL that seemed to have been added by Master. She sat back in her chair, excited to be clad in the clinging top and the wonderful rubber skirt, so taut across her lap. The webcam seemed to spring into life. Charlotte also found that somehow she had logged on to some instant messaging service. The screen was black and glossy and it reminded Charlotte of the rubber she wore. As she sat there wondering what would happen next a message appeared in silver text.

RubberMaster: slave, I see you.

Charlotte took this to mean that the webcam was functioning as he had intended. Quickly she typed her reply, and her response automatically had her slave name.

rubberpet: i am so grateful, Master, for your gifts.

Charlotte stood so that her waist was level with the webcam. She ran her hands over the lovely rubber in as sexy way as she could, then she turned and, thrusting out her bum, fondled it slowly with her hands. For an instant Charlotte wondered how she had come to be performing, scantily clad, like this. Yet, she dismissed that concern, after all she was alone, she was being tarty to her computer screen, nothing else, and she knew many women played 'dress-up' in the privacy of their bedrooms. She turned back to the screen to see if there were any specific commands.

RubberMaster: Master is pleased that you have taken so well to His gifts. Feel, I reward you.

For a moment Charlotte did not know what he meant but then she felt the vibrator begin to buzz against the lips of her pussy. She had been right, he could control it remotely. She grasped for the back of her chair, unable to do more than gasp for breath as she almost bent double with the leg weaking sensations now being sent into her. Her pussy was soon slick, her clit erect as her juices trickled down her leg. She trusted that Master could see her as his puppet, played with for her pleasure but, no doubt, his as well. Charlotte orgasmed, her whole body convulsing not only with the physical sensations but the knowledge that her life now included such erotic behaviour.

As Charlotte regained control of herself she noticed that the vibrator had not ceased. Whilst it was not as active as before, it was buzzing gently, giving her a tingling feeling that she liked. She wondered how long this would persist. She walked back to the computer screen to see if Master was going to give an explanation. It soon appeared.

RubberMaster: slave, you are now truly a sexual creature at all times of the day; you will find yourself in a state of arousal just like a good slave should, but remember I can take away as well as give.

Charlotte realised that if she complied then Master would have a greater hold over her. She understood that the sensation could become addictive and that its withdrawal would hurt as strongly as a more assertive punishment. Yet, that seemed even more delicious. She was astounded how easily and how quickly Master had asserted his control over her even though they had never met and she could see nothing of him except his words. This game was becoming more real every time they communicated, but Charlotte realised that she welcomed that, this whole scene had turned her life into something very different and exciting. Quickly she typed back her submission to Master's will.

rubberpet: Your slave thanks Master for taking tighter control of her; she will comply with all your commands so you have no need to remove your gifts from her.

Charlotte sat waiting for a reply but none came. Then the light on the webcam winked out and she knew she had been dismissed from Master's presence. However, the gentle buzz of her vibrator continued and she knew she had not displeased him. Now she recognised too, that except for some few minutes in each day, she would be aware of his presence by the continued tantalising touch in her most intimate places.


Charlotte checked her computer every evening when she returned home, leaving the instant messaging live whenever she could. Even at work she regularly checked into her special email account to see if there was any contact from Master. Charlotte came to understand, though, that being patient whilst waiting for your owner's attention was a big part of being a proper slave. In the meantime her colleagues noticed a change in her, she certainly seemed more cheerful than she had had before, but often they would find her rather distracted, as if she was daydreaming. She also seemed to have a kind of sassy wiggle to her walk which was commented on by both men and women. Soon the general conclusion was that Charlotte had a man in her life and one who was paying her a lot of attention, both mentally and physically. On the rare occasions she caught wind of such conclusions, Charlotte did nothing to contradict them, after all, they were true, though probably not in the way her colleagues imagined.

Now that she had a background-level of sexual gratification at all times except when she removed the vibrator to wash, Charlotte found it easier to get through the days without having to resist the urge to finger herself. She filled the time waiting for Master's next command by reading all the material that she could about being submissive. She also pored over the numerous online brochures of sexy rubber clothing imagining herself as one of the models; sure Master looked in the same locations and hoping that he would send her some of the wonderful items they showed. She enjoyed thinking that she was a woman who could dress like that, one so in touch with her sexuality and getting the most from it. She dismissed any thought of being embarrassed, after all, she was a single adult and it all happened behind closed doors.


The following night a message appeared soon after Charlotte had logged on.

RubberMaster: good slaves must be able to accommodate how their Owner chooses to decorate them. I have nose studs and navel studs to send you. Be able to wear them within 48 hours.

rubberpet: Yes, Master.

Charlotte sat back from the keyboard. Whilst she had accepted Master's command so quickly, now she began to worry. She had had her ears pierced, once each, when a teenager, but these requests, no, commands, from Master went further. What would people think when they saw her? Okay, she could cover a navel stud, but the one in her nose would be visible to all. However, surely that was the point, Master had been testing her at each stage to check that she would comply with his orders, that she was a worthy slave. Then again, maybe she was passed that stage. She understood that Master wanted her to dress and behave a certain way: why should that not extend to piercings too? Charlotte quivered pleasurably as she realised that she had no choice, she would do as Master commanded and if she was to wear a large ring in her nose and a chain from her navel then people would see what she truly was, Master's slave, to appear as he, not her, chose.

Charlotte tried to carry this enthusiasm through the night and the next day. She realised that most piercing places would not be open early enough for her to go before work, so she had to sustain her willingness as the hours ticked by. The buzzing pleasure in her pussy kept reminding her of Master and what he required of her. She realised that she feared what he would do if she went past his deadline. Would the good vibrations stop? Could she cope if they did? She was still forbidden to pleasure herself and yet she knew that now she needed at least a certain level of sexual satisfaction to keep her sane. These thoughts encouraged her, however sheepish she was, to head downtown after work. She went into the first place that she saw advertising body piercings; it did tattoos too and Charlotte pondered whether in the future Master would command her to have one of those done as well. Her mind spiralled into speculations of being marked as something like 'property of RubberMaster' or 'Slave 4 - rubberpet'. It took barely minutes for her nose and navel to be pierced. The man doing it said little and seemed to treat it as if Charlotte was another set of components to assemble on a production line. Soon she was stepping out with the smallest silver stud in her nose and something larger in steel curving into her navel. It hurt, but Charlotte felt a tingle of excitement as she went home feeling she had taken another good step in becoming the sexual creature Master was shaping her into.

Charlotte returned home and fired up her computer. Though she was eager to show Master that she had obeyed, she slowed down knowing she had to prepare herself correctly. First she eased herself into her rubber top and skirt. Then Charlotte sent a quick instant message to tell Master that she had done what he had ordered and she was glad as the webcam on top of her computer soon came to life. She stood in front of it, her navel, bare between the two rubber items of clothing, showed her piercing clearly. Then she thrust her face close to the camera so he could see the stud. Charlotte repeated the two postures and then felt the vibrator begin buzzing more vigorously. Her attempts to return to the computer and communicate with Master were frustrated by the pleasure which was rapidly flowing into her. She slumped from her chair and began writhing on the floor as the sensations increased. Charlotte was so happy that she had found the courage to obey Master's command. She knew now, too, that whenever she looked at her piercings she would associate them both with pleasurable feelings and with belonging to Master.

Two days later Charlotte picked up a small package from the post office. She tore it open as she walked back to her car. It held nose studs of various kinds from small silver to a large red stone. She took out the shiny black stone one and slipped it into her nose. It reminded her of polished rubber. The navel studs were similar, one to match each of the nose studs. Yet there was an additional one, with a small tag on it saying ‘rubberpet’. Charlotte tingled as she held it. It was like a name tag one would buy to hang around the neck of a pet cat. She could do nothing but ease out the stud the man had given her and replace it with this tagged one. For the moment it was again concealed beneath her blouse but she could not help but look down to where it was hidden, knowing what it said and feeling aroused by the fact. Back home Charlotte quickly put on her rubber clothes and paraded in front of webcam. She was disappointed not to be rewarded by her vibrator stepping up its speed, but then she realised it was nothing special for a slave to accept her master’s labelling of her. Charlotte again reminded herself that one key virtue of being a good slave, alongside obedience, was patience.


It was with excitement that a few days later that Charlotte received the next notification that something had arrived at her post office box. She sneaked off work early to get it. Feeling the package flex as she picked it up she knew it held more rubber clothes. The moment she was through her front door she was shedding her work clothes, feeling she had to dress and ready herself properly to receive Master’s gift. Charlotte pulled out her rubber skirt and top and got them on as quickly as she could. She also put on a smart pair of black court shoes with a decent heel, wishing instead that they were stripper shoes with both a platform and long heel. Then again, she was sure that complying with Master’s desires would bring her such rewards. Charlotte tingled, feeling good in being good, in obeying without question, becoming the perfect pet, rubberpet, for Master. Now she turned to the package, tearing the wrappings off with real force. Charlotte gasped as she pulled out the single item which seemed pretty heavy. It unfolded as she held it up, revealing that she now owned a catsuit. It seemed so encompassing, ending in both socks and gloves, so, that, from the neck down her whole body would be embraced by the slippery second skin.

As Charlotte quickly logged on, her instant messenger sprang to life and the cycloptic webcam eye came awake. Slowly Charlotte turned for the camera, feeling as before that Master was watching her, almost as if he was standing in the room. She rubbed her breasts, so excited as they were teased by the slippery top. She turned her bum towards the camera and bent over making it into slick globe of shiny black and sensuously caressed her cheeks as if it was Master’s hands doing it. Charlotte realised that she was doing well when the vibrator began pulsing. Rather than being flat out, the bursts of activity just stoked her feelings higher. Though she tried to continue her erotic moves she was soon incapable and made no effort to move from where she was; simply slumped to the floor, her hands stroking her rubber-covered and her naked flesh as she squirmed with the pleasure. Orgasm shot through her thrusting up her pelvis as if it rose to meet the man who was invading her. Charlotte felt like a puppet moved by a controller she could not see. Yet that concept: that she had given over her pleasure to someone else’s power just flooded her mind with the sensation of climax.

Charlotte lay panting, her body sweaty. She wondered what she would look like to anyone entering: a woman abandoned to the attentions of her invisible lover. She managed to pull herself up into the computer chair and slowly typed her thanks.

rubberpet: Thank you, thank you, my Master, this slave is grateful for more gifts from you.

RubberMaster: A slave has no need to give thanks, her actions show her body’s appreciation far better than any words can.

Charlotte felt a little admonished, but understood that she was still pretty new to being enslaved and no doubt had many lessons to learn.

rubberpet: Of course Master, your pet understands.

RubberMaster: Good, my little one, I know you do. This is just another step in your transformation into fully being a rubber slave. One day the only clothes you will have will be of rubber, but be certain there will be a wardrobe full so I can command you to dress the way that takes my fancy.

rubberpet: This slave understands Master, and welcomes the day when she will always dress in rubber at His command and to his choice. The catsuit?

Charlotte felt a little daring adding the last point but she realised she was hungry to feel what it would be like to so covered.

RubberMaster: You are eager my slave, eager to go the next step. I am pleased, though, that you did not rush to put the catsuit on. It is good that you have it, and in your abstinence have proven yourself worthy to wear it, but there are other items to accompany it. Once you wear all of them together, you will give up another piece of yourself, hand a part of your soul to me and see that the true slave has only the characteristics, the identity that her Master selects. Think on these things and be ready tomorrow evening.

rubberpet: Yes, Master.

Charlotte thought about what Master had written. She guessed the fact that she was simply ‘rubberpet’ to him and not Charlotte Griffith was partly a sign that she accepted his statement of her identity, even more than that, rubberpet was barely anything but his slave. In that identity Charlotte did and wore things she recognised she would probably not have thought about if she had forever remained simply Charlotte. She did wonder what the next items would be. She guessed they would be boots and maybe a collar. That thought made her tingle and she was increasingly excited about the things her master would send.


Charlotte went to check her post office box at lunchtime on the off chance and was well rewarded by a couple of boxes and parcels that rippled suggesting they held more rubber clothing. She sneaked them back to her car and rather self-consciously tore them open; struggling to manhandle the various items in the confines of the vehicle. The largest box revealed a pair of long shiny boots with high heels that Charlotte could not imagine walking on, but was hungry to try. She had seen such thigh boots on websites and now was breathless to think she now owned a pair in rubber that would cling to her so tightly. The smaller box held patent ankle boots with a slender steel heel. She guessed these were to go with her latex top and skirt; the opera gloves as well. The remaining items confirmed what she had expected. They were a full latex mask to erase her identity, and wrapped in a package of its own, a glossy collar, with a metal ring at the front, which she recognised would indicate that she was owned.

Charlotte hesitated for just a moment then found herself buckling the collar round her neck, concealing it beneath her blouse. She walked back to her office with a renewed sense of sexiness and excitement which made it difficult to focus on her work. She could not wait to leave and drove quickly through the streets back home.

Charlotte logged as soon as she reached her computer. There was no message from Master, but she felt that she now understood what he had meant the night before: her task was to coat herself in the glossy rubber from head to foot, thus concealing her identity, simply being a domino, a blank canvas that could be so manipulated by its master. Charlotte gathered together the catsuit, mask and boots. She removed her collar, feeling loath to take it off, but knowing it would take its proper place around the neck of a rubber-wearing slave. She rubbed talcum powder over her body and then inside the rubber, knowing she would need it if she was going to ease inside without too much difficulty. Charlotte’s hands were shaking as she slid her legs into the rubber. It looked like the catsuit had already been well polished as it was as shiny as those she had seen in online pictures. As the skin slid further up her body it was if she was being transformed into some kind of alien creature. What made it more exciting was that this change was at the direction of her Owner.

Charlotte’s heart was thumping as she eased first one arm and then the other into the slippery rubber. This pulled it tight against her bum and her back. It was a strange sensation to handle things with rubber-clad fingers but slowly she began sliding the zip closed from behind her bum, over the bulge of her vibrator then up her midriff to her breasts. They were erect, excited at the coming sensation. Charlotte pulled the zip closed tantalisingly slowly, but soon it reached her chin and she was sealed into her new skin.

Charlotte stooped to pick up the mask, this was a further step, but she recognised it was vital in giving her the anonymity that Master wanted. She realised her hair, which by now had grown to below her shoulders, would bunch up inside, but she then saw that it was one of the designs with a hole in the top out of which her hair would come, like water from a fountainhead. It took a while to tug her hair through, but Charlotte remained patient, knowing she had to get this right. Finally her hair was through and she brought the mask down to blot out her features. As she opened her eyes and breathed for the first time through the nostril holes, Charlotte felt a real excitement. As yet, the vibrator was still on its usual setting, but this ritual itself was thoroughly exciting Charlotte; now she felt she could properly used the name rubberpet.

Charlotte turned to the boots and, sitting on the side of her bed, slid them over her glistening legs. She closed each in turn with the zips and then stood, staggering a little as she rose on their thick platforms and their even longer heels. She walked tentatively in them, pleased by how they thrust out her bum, skin-tight and shiny in its rubber coating.

Charlotte collected her collar. ‘Her collar’ that phrase brought further excitement. She wished Master was here to do this to her himself. Then again, she guessed this was like the first emails, she was the one offering herself as a slave; that made her submission pure, not forced, and thus, so much sweeter. Charlotte stood gazing at herself in the mirror, making small gestures so that she could see them repeated by the alien sexual creature she saw reflected. Master had been right, she had no identity, she was only breasts, bum, long hair and black, slippery skin. She was a sex toy, stripped of any ornament, as functional as a straight black rubber vibrator. Charlotte wondered what she would do if Master ordered her to remain dressed like this. She had read of 24/7 scenes and for the first time she began pondering what it would be like to become so involved.

Charlotte shook her featureless head. For the moment she had a task to do. She lifted the collar to her neck and slowly buckled it closed, tight, but not so much as to restrict her breathing. Now with the ring so prominent against the black rubber backing, Charlotte felt herself as one side of an interface; she knew her Master could attach a leash and lead her truly like a pet, to show off her sleek, rubber-clad lines.

Charlotte strode to her computer. She realised she was becoming increasingly accustomed to the boots and to the slipperiness which now covered her whole body. The webcam was already awake and Charlotte began posing in front of it, running her fingers over her body, cupping her aroused breasts and finding it difficult to tear herself away from teasing her black shiny nipples. Suddenly her computer screen wavered and in the place of text she saw a camera image: Charlotte saw herself as no doubt Master did, the anonymous living sex-toy performing for its owner. Orgasm began creeping up on Charlotte even without Master commanding her vibrator into greater activity. Then suddenly it hit her. Charlotte fell to her knees shuddering; gibberish issuing from her mouth as she convulsed with pleasure. She kept her eyes fixed on the screen to see the rubber puppet being played with, until she fell backwards her body a quivering, slick thing. All sense of identity was gone; she just existed in the moment of pleasure.