[Latex, Wax, Encasement, Lifestyle Change, Consentual]

It started so simply. Kind of boring in retrospect. But, given the situation, retrospect was all I had.

We tried out the latex underwear my husband bought for me one day. It was a gift on a whim, more of a joke really. But, after I put on that latex bikini set, I was hooked. He started to peel it off in his excitement, his desire to consummate and appreciate his gift… but I had to get him to stop. It felt too perfect, too sexy.

It wasn't hard to convince him, and after some finagling, he managed to slide his length in along the string of my thong, while he groped my breasts through the clinging material. I was driven over the edge multiple times, uttering nonsense by the time he finally came.

We both ended up passed out, too tired to go use the bathroom and clean up before sleep claimed us. When morning came, and I was a drippy mess in my latex clothing, he joked and said I should wipe up, but keep them on for the day.

He pecked my cheek, and told me he loved me. He smiled so softly at me while he said it. He got up and left for work, but the gears in my head were turning.

I worked from home. Web design rarely involved meeting clients, and some of my contacts were long distance anyway, entirely mediated through the powers of instant messaging. Sure, I dressed for work every day, a proper skirt and blouse, hose and heels, what I envisioned someone doing my job would wear to the office, but it was more for the mental effect on my performance. Also, it made running errands or meeting clients faster without having to get dressed all over.

Besides, it made my husband notice my appearance when he would get home. And when he would notice… he would appreciate.

That day though, I kept the latex underwear on. My sweat from the night before had created a slight suction, and left the otherwise clingy garments skin tight against me. All day long I shifted and squirmed, falling behind in my projects due to frequent breaks to ‘entertain’ myself.

By the time my husband got home from his job, I was more than spent, and mentally drained from juggling a day of sex and work. I was on the couch watching a show, already in my pajamas, with the special underwear hidden beneath.

My sweet husband, he fed and got me to bed that night, and the next few nights as well, as this same cycle continued. Finally, after almost a week, I made it through the day with minimal self-satisfaction. I leaped onto my husband when he came in the door, my body naked except the underwear.

“Oh! Oh my~ Someone's excited, already got that underwear on, huh?”

“Mmm...maybe~” I responded, timidly. “Or…”

“Or what, dear?”

“Well, you said to keep them on...and I really don't want them off…” I whispered in his ear, with a blush.

He blushed too, and carried me to the bathroom. “Baby, come on, let's clean you up. This isn't ok.” He said the words gently, and while he meant the best, I could tell he was turned on. He peeled off the old garments and washed me up, and took me in the shower while we cleaned. His wet body pressed against mine, and I hung in his grip, pressed against the wall and him. He took me from behind, my wet slit stretched around his generous member. As he came he pushed harder on me, my face crushed against the tiles of the shower wall. The painful pressure was finally enough to make me flower into orgasm as well, though, it was not nearly as satisfying as when I had the latex on.

We cleaned up again and went to bed after that adventure. We tried to fall asleep, but my tossing and turning kept him awake.

“I want you to put me in more latex…” I whispered to him, half asleep, and half addled in desire. “More and more and more...never stop…” I yawned, and snuggled against him. I don't remember the rest of the conversation, but it apparently left an impact on my loving husband.

The next morning I woke up and almost came immediately. Not only was I back in my latex underwear, but my feet were encased in electrical tape. It was awkward walking on them, as they were forced into points, like wearing exaggerated heels. I hopped out of my strangely empty bed, and explored the house.

Each step tugged and pulled at the bindings on my feet and ankles, awkwardly keeping me stumbling between each step. Finally, I made it to the kitchen and found a note.

~~
My sweet darling,

I'm not sure if you meant what you said last night. If you did, well, I hope you're enjoying today. I shaped your feet after how they arch in those heels you never wear -- who knows, maybe you ought to wear them now.

If you want to keep this game going, text me a picture of you wearing those heels. I'll get some more toys after work.
~~

He didn't have to convince me twice. I hopped back to the bedroom, trying to only walk on my toes the entire way, and found the ridiculous 5” heels he had mentioned. I slipped my foot in the  extreme heel and sighed in relief. After a few practice steps, it certainly was easier than hopping everywhere. I quickly snapped a couple pictures, and sent them to my husband. I blushed and laid back in bed, enjoying the sensation of my tightly bound toes trying to wiggle in their prison.

I used myself for hours without leaving the spot, and hardly stopped when my husband got home. He made me walk to the living room, and sit on the couch.

“So, you like the latex?”

I nodded, embarrassment keeping my voice shy.

“Do you want to continue this?”

“...yes…” I whispered, my eyes wide and looking up at him.

He reached into his backpack, and pulled out a jar. Liquid Latex Paint. He set it on the table between us. “When you want this game to stop, you say so. Alright?”

I nodded, and so did he. He stood up and sat next to me. He started kissing my neck, and playing with my ears. “I don't want this getting found out by your clients, so we'll play nice and hidden.”

He grabbed the paint and started to slather it onto my breasts. The black underwear quickly disappeared under the thick and copious layers of tan colored paint. He went all the way around my torso, much like a tank top, covering the bikini top and my chest all together. The cleavage between my C cup breasts quickly vanished. While they had been beautiful in the right low cut dress, held together to create a display of two globes gently caressed against one another, now they lacked all detail. Their size was still obvious, but they were now a single bump, without definition, or any visible separation.

He had to physically restrain me from touching the paint before it dried. After an agonizing wait, he finally allowed it. He chuckled, watching me explore the new alien curves of my chest. The cleavage was entirely gone, within moments. Inside the latex shell I could feel the pressure of my touch, but only just. And on the outside, there was nothing to indicate what was once there. My torso, from the bottom of my ribs, up and over my shoulders in bands about two inches wide, was a solid sheen of tan, slightly contrasting with my pale skin.

Our lovemaking that night went longer than usual, both of us excited with this new game. After we finished, a few hours later, I lay beside him, panting softly.

“S-should we take it off before bed?” I whispered between breaths.

He looked at me strangely, almost a little distant. His voice was cold and quiet. “Are you saying you’re done already?”

I shook my head quietly, and he rolled back over to sleep. I had goosebumps from the way he said that, like he meant for this to go on for some time, and I didn’t know how I felt about that.

Every day, the ‘game’ continued. He would wrap more and more latex around me, tracing down the paint over my torso. Daily inches would be lost to this creeping tan sheen.

When he reached my navel, about a week after starting, he called it a special occassion. He pulled out some fuzzy handcuffs, a gag gift turned into one of our earlier toys, and had me lay down on the bed. He restrained my wrists above my head, and knelt over my lap.

“Wouldn’t it be… wouldn’t it be fun if while we played this game, I had you call me Sir, or even Master?”

I furrowed my brow slightly, and tilted my head. “What? Why would we do that, sweetie?”

He chuckled, and kissed my lips sweetly. His body pressed against my firm, stiff chest, creating a strange pressure. “It’s just part of the fun, since I’m the one putting this stuff on you every day. It’s no harm, right?”

I thought for a moment “I guess it wouldn’t… Master~” I said with a smirk, utterly tickled by this.

He laughed, and had a wide smile on his face. “Good girl… Good pet~” He chuckled, stroking my cheek. He then didn’t speak to me further, instead just grabbing one of the larger candles we had burning each night. He slowly sloshed the wax that had melted back in forth in the candle, looking up to me. Without any further warning, he poured the wax over my navel, filling it up.

Instantly, the heat ignited in me for a flash of a moment. After those precious seconds had passed, and most of the heat left the wax, the pain subsided, leaving me panting and squirming against my binds. He kept dripping the hot wax over my belly, slowly creating a large disk of the molten material, slowly cooling against my skin and the air. He traced his initials into it, and let the wax harden against me.

He released my hands, and curtly warned me to stand, slowly, without breaking the wax. It was a process, but with his help, it was managed. And now our actual game. He slowly, meticulously covered the rest of my exposed torso in the latex. As the paint coated me, it appeared as though it would completely hide the faux wax seal he had made on me.

As layer after layer built up, it became clear what his process was. The layers of latex instead made the disk more pronounced, standing further off my body and being an exaggerated mark, nearly an entire inch off of the flat of my torso - or rather, the flat of the latex layers.

From my hips to my shoulders, I was alien. Literally half of my body was tan, shiny, and untouchable, and try as I might, I couldn’t find anything wrong with that. I looked like I had stolen a stranger’s torso, their skin tone not matching mine at the seams.

The new skin tone hadn’t lasted long. Master decided that if I was going to be adorned in latex, we should try out the classic colors. A large jar of black latex paint was used to cover over the tan paint. While my body would have been passable before in public - perhaps a story about odd tan lines could be used - now it couldn’t. My skin was blacker than possible, almost seeming to eat light itself. The glossy coating was more intense too, but that only added to my attraction to the transformation that was underway. I could tell, at my shoulders and hips, that the latex had been built up layer by layer to be nearly half an inch thick, with the wax mark of my navel another inch beyond that.

My work performance began to suffer. I spent more time enjoying myself than actually working. Meeting with customers required covering up and wearing unseasonable clothes, which in turn lead to heat stroke and being generally unproductive.

After a few weeks of this, I found myself staring at my shiny green legs - Master had decided I couldn’t be entirely black, and wanted some color. My legs had started entirely naked - save for the dramatic high heels - when the process started, but after a couple of weeks of being painted, I couldn’t even see where my shoes started and my leg would have been. Each leg was its own bound, solid mass of latex, with no details or ornamentation.

I stood up and walked into the living room to my Master. After weeks of only addressing him as such, our relationship had changed. We weren’t equals in this, he was in charge. He made the decisions, with the only decision left in my power was to end this.  “If I transferred all my projects over to my partner, and took a leave...a sabbatical, say… what could we do? How far would we take this?”

He muted the tv, and stared at me. When naked, I was still mostly covered up, and if it wasn’t for my crotch, it would be hard to tell I wasn’t dressed in fetish clothes. I could tell the sight turned him on, and I knelt in front of him. “Master, how far do you want to take this game?”

He stroked my hair back, and whispered my name. My actual name. When I didn’t look up right away at him, he repeated, louder, this time calling me Pet. I looked up for him; it was part of the game. “We could go farther than anyone thinks possible. If you do this, don’t expect this to be easy to stop any more. Are you alright with that?”

I nodded, it was an easy choice at this point. Financially, we both could maintain keeping the house and bills paid on our own. We lived pretty well off, and that would have to change, but we had been saving money behind the scenes for years now. Taking a month, or even two off of work wouldn’t be damaging in any way.

Master kissed me, and his Pet kissed back. It was the first full kiss we shared recently, our roles having prevented it from coming up. But as we kissed I felt him rubbing around my neck, and suddenly a collar was clasped onto me. My hands went up and tugged at it, and he patted them down.

That night there was no more paint, but there was plenty of sex to be had. The lack of latex was made up for both with my already squeaky body, and with the next day.

He returned home the next day late after work. He brought into the house copious amounts of the latex paint, of varying colors.

“We need to catch up the rest of you, now that you will no longer be meeting with clients. Get things a bit more… even.” He smirked at me, and told me to hold still. He started with my arms, inch by inch the new blue latex connected from the old, original black latex, and trailed down my limbs like a corrupting venom. I whispered and shuddered as he progressed. He finished my right hand first, my dominant hand, before turning to my left hand.

The cool paint had been tickling me, and making me shudder, and I shuddered the most as he went over that hand. His brush jerked erratically to the side, creating a web of latex strands between my fingers.

He scowled at me. “You moved, when I told you not to move. Hmm...we’re going to have to punish you...maybe you just won’t have that hand anymore…” He chuckled, almost evilly. He started to thickly glob the paint between my fingers, pinching the tips together so that I couldn’t separate them. The paint dried slowly, the thickness to conceal and hide the gaps between the fingers taking longer to dry solid. But eventually, and after some mild touch ups, he had finished.

All that was left of that hand was a mild curve at the end of my arm, a slight bend where my fingers lay buried and unable to flex or move. Even my thumb was missing, entirely consumed in the thicker latex covering that hand.

I pawed at myself, touching my face and my chest with the strange nub of a hand. The senses were dull, and the pressure on the digits was strange, but it didn’t feel bad. It was enjoyable, and just maybe, it was right.

He had me lay back on the bed, and propped up my hips with some pillows. Slowly and intricately, he painted over my groin. The green of my legs and the black of my torso were brought together on my hips, mixing in swirls and jagged lines. And slowly, delicately, he painted right up to the lines of my sex, leaving a pristine pink line - as well as a pink hole further back - entirely bordered by the latex. Layer after layer, the pattern changed, until from toes to neck, I was a solid mass of latex.

My neck was next. The collar my Master put on me the night before remained snug against my skin, just tight enough to be resistant to moving, but loose enough that there wasn’t a choking hazard. He painted my neck up, layer after layer. He spent extra time here, doing more and more layers than the rest of my body. The collar rested high on my neck, and it seemed he wanted it to appear as though it was part of my own neck.

After it had significantly built up, my neck was heavy and thick on my shoulders, but wasn’t entirely out of place: the layers built up on my chest made the thicker neck look normal, almost, in the mirror. It was strange though. It looked like my neck, but with loops… almost growing out of it. As though I had been resculpted and redesigned. Master continued with painting me, and for the first time, didn’t elect to fully cover my skin, when he got to my face. He created tasteful accent lines, using the curves of my face to bring to light shapes and contours. The pale white paint he used on my face only seemed to make it more alien, instead of accenting shadows, what would normally be darker was now white, whiter than my own natural skin.

He let me explore my body after that, while he watched across the room. Finally, he stepped in, and took me, pressed right against my sleek and shiny body. Every sensation was muffled, dimmed down, except the internal pleasure. That sense alone was amplified in the dark room, and I floated in his grasp as he continued to enjoy his creation.

---

Things continued for a while pretty normally. Small details were added into the paint, and instead of looking like a patchwork doll made of various colors, Master worked to make the colors flow more naturally. He practiced blending the paint with decorative strokes like he had done at my crotch, and he tested out making me look like a cohesive art piece.

After a couple more weeks of being his squeaky and mostly painted latex girl, Master decided my left arm would be an experiment for him. He focused only on painting it, while touching up the rest of my paint. As the layers built up, each joint became stiffer until finally, my arm was permanently frozen in a soft bent, my former hand holding my hip.

My entire body was rigid and creaky. It became normal to rest in a position and become almost unmoving, an eerie stillness that wasn't quite lifelike.

My master started to whisper to me when we would be together, telling me that this was my skin now, that I was just latex now.

Days and weeks went by, a prisoner to my own house and husband. I began to stop caring about going back to work, or about going out and doing things. It took a long conversation to convince him, again, to go to the next step. A far more final step, one that would place him in utter and total control. But he finally did agree, and took me to the bedroom right then to continue the process.

He dug through our closet and got some of our older delights out. An older corset, some breast forms from a costume party, and the most egregious pair of club boots I ever owned, with a heel so exaggerated I could never stand for more than an hour or so in them. All these, and a few more items, started piling at the floor.

Master unlaced and opened the corset, working it through the slender gap my bound left arm provided. He tightened and locked it shut, pulling down on my frame to pull in as much stomach as he dared. What began as an already flat and average figure, previously guided by the layers of latex, now compressed to a thin, hourglass curve.

The dancing boots were pulled on next, and after laying me on my back, he managed to get them pulled up without a falling hazard. My feet were forced into an arch and held tight, unable to stretch or shift. The long sides of the boot reached up to my knees, tightly gripped against the sides of my calves.

Finally he strapped the breast forms onto my chest. My single boob, merged by all the latex over it, looked strange splitting into two distinct breasts again, though I could see how it would look normal covered over.

The next two days I didn't leave the bed, trapped on my back like a turtle. In between feeding and sleeping, he passed the time waiting for packages to arrive by painting my new additions. The corset and boots quickly vanished into my latex skin, each layer of paint hiding it until it was impossible to tell that a corset was the secret to my shapely figure, or how thick, rubbery heels grew from my feet. The breast forms also vanished, leaving me far more bouncy above the impossibly thin waist.

The packages were the key to this success, the solution to this game. The first package held obscene adult toys, rolled out on the bed beside me. A large gag, and multiple lower plugs, all shaped like dicks, and all with thin holes through them. The second box had medical supplies, mostly rubber tubing and such, though he didn’t let me see much in it.

Silently working, he fed the tubes down my nose checked in my mouth to make sure it was sealed in. He gagged me, pushing a feed tube through the gag into my throat. Similar plugs filled my lower holes, with a catheter installed in. He coated each opening in a latex seal, keeping the tubes safely held away. After delicately painting them, and affixing my holes wide open, he leaned in and whispers in my ear.

“Close your eyes.”

I did so, and he liberally splashed the cold latex paint over my face, smearing it on with a brush. He smothered inch after inch, until it perfectly met up with my neck, leaving me no more than a shiny, sleek shape of a rubber person.

There were only two events I noticed at this point. Whenever he fed me a liquified meal, I would have to lay helplessly as it drained into my stomach, unable to even taste or chew it. And whenever he would paint me, he made sure to snuggle and lay with me first.

And then suddenly, something new. He had guided me onto my feet, and I was standing. It was a loose approximation of standing, and with no senses to call my own he had to be holding me and guiding me. I ended up standing still, my feet stretched by the heels, my sense of balance thrown off by the changes to my body.

As time went on, I was uncertainly floating between conscious and unconscious though it became harder and harder to tell when he was touching me. I grew afraid he had left me in this cocoon, or that I might have even died but had no way to sense it.

That was all relieved though, when I saw my husband peel up the multicolored layers around my face, exposing me to the bright sunlight of the world again. I looked around, still standing from wherever he left me. Master stepped aside, showing me a mirror. He had found a doll stand, and I was posed in it. At least, I assumed that that was me. It only had the vague shapes of a human, and was more just an endlessly layered pile of latex. Master smiled at me, winking. Whatever he had planned next, I’m sure I was going to love.