Mike cage looked over his family and wondered what the world was coming too. He loved both his wife and daughters but never in his wildest nightmares did he ever imagine a scene as bizarre as the one before him.

The perverted Prime Minister and his crony Sir Humphrey had fucked the country over good and proper. They’d started the ball rolling, but things had quickly progressed out of their misogynistic hands. He was still in power but there was already a back bench revolt brewing over his only skirts outside for women rule. A gang of right wingers labeled by the press, depending on publication, as either The Conservative Club, The Corset Cronies or the Catsuit Coalition, were pressing for the dress or skirt rule to be relaxed. Their argument was so long as a woman was collared, leashed and belted why should not the controlling man dress her, or undress her, as he pleased?

It had really started to get out of hand with the expansion of the ‘Barriers of Penetration’ laws the PM had cooked up. Women had started arriving at work covered in the drool induced by their gags.  Some smart Alec had hired a lawyer to sue for the increased laundry and some government mandarin had hit on the idea of dressing staff in latex uniforms. That had quickly snowballed.

Now the ‘Moral Regeneration’ the PM had started was being perverted into a reason to dress women in latex, all the time. Women who had never even heard of BDSM, or perhaps their only experience was reading E L James’s atrocious book, were now being required by law to walk on leashes in public, gagged and with a chastity belt locked in place. Then due to some no win no fee fiasco they’re suddenly clad in latex too. Freaky!

So here he was sitting in the living room with his family around him. His wife and daughters were all clad in latex. Mike had a fetish for latex clothing. One he and his wife had been indulging in a consensual way throughout their marriage. They had role played D/s games almost since the day they had hooked up in their twenties and had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

Then the stupid collar rules had come into effect. Worse, his youngest had come out of the closet on the day he had revealed his plan to protect his family. So even his plan had been twisted. Both his daughters had taken one look at their mother dressed in fetish gear. Then immediately started plotting on how to get him to acquiesce and allow them to dress that way too. He had resisted at first but when women were seen out on the street dressed in latex his arguments crumbled.

Perhaps the biggest joke was the drool problem was quickly dealt with by panel gags. Yet once these became popular there was no move away from dressing the women in rubber. It was clear that now women knew their place in this new society they were going to be kept in it.

Women dressed in latex only. If they were found outside unaccompanied in any other location bar their workplace or a hypermarket or local shop they risked arrest. They were locked in chastity belts all the time and gagged outside of their home or place of work. If they were out with a man he attached a leash to the collar they were also required to wear. Let’s face it. Women were now slaves. The PM’s foolish notion, of returning to a nineteen thirties era where women doted on their men and dressed in flower print frocks, had been perverted into a dystopian nightmare of public BDSM, misogyny and corruption.

Which was why this was the last night his family would ever spend together.

His wife knelt obediently on the floor by the television. Laced tight in a latex corset, with latex stockings and opera length gloves, she patiently waited for her Master to issue a new order. She was in clear view of the built in camera of the computer in the corner of the room. Just in case the MRU looked in.

His daughters also knelt on the floor. Though they were either side of the low coffee table playing cards with each other. Both wore a latex black catsuit and patent black stiletto ankle boots. The shape of their chastity belts clearly delineated in the rubber. The neck of the catsuit disappearing under the steel collars locked about their throats.

Later he would lock his wife in her cage and have the girls put latex skirts over the catsuits. He would then gag both his daughters and attach leashes to their collars. He would then take them out for a meal at a local restaurant.

It was no way for a father to treat his grown daughters. It was a rubbish way to say goodbye to two beautiful, wonderful, amazing women, who he loved with a fury that would see him give his life for theirs in a flash. Yet they had insisted they play the charade out to the end. They were probably right to do so. They had all hugged and cried in the dining room yesterday evening.

Tomorrow he would take them to the airport. Still dressed in rubber. Still on the end of his leash. Still gagged. They would hug once more. But no kiss goodbye, not from their gagged mouths anyway. They would have their leashes handed to the male steward. He would lead them to their seats, and the last he would ever see of his daughters was two young women, dressed in rubber being led away by a man.

Once they got to America they would ditch the tour guide and return to the airport. They would board a plane to the Netherlands. Once there they would find the contact from the KSN. They would get the money he had been laundering away for them. Then his daughters would be free, and slaves no more.

Mike Cage did not know how the government would react to his daughters defection. He did not care. Both he and Alice knew only one thing. Neither Carol or Suzanne were living their lives in steel collars and chastity belts.