by Robert Bishop

Illustrations by Robert Bishop

Originally published in Bound To Please Vol.  3 No.  11

Transcribed and Edited by guardian46w

Special thanks to EKrayon (SMS) for scanning the text.

They were keeping her company.  At least they weren't in her lap.  Strictly speaking, she didn't have one.

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"Package in from Europe," he announced, signaling the beginning of a particularly interesting afternoon.  "Both outfits."

It was summer in Michigan, a varicolored green showing through the slowly closing screen door on the back porch.  He had been mowing the lawn when the delivery truck slalomed in with a spray of gravel.  Dave smelled of gas fumes, freshly cut grass, and sweat.

Leave it to the krauts to elevate the art of rubber clothing to a vaguely machine-like art form.  She was down on the floor with him, tearing at the wrapping.  Hell, I ain't got, nothin' against machines, she thought.

The boots were on top.  She had ordered them six months earlier, and they had cost a not entirely small fortune.  She just hoped they fit.

The wrapping paper was now an irregularly angled mountain of tan off to one side.  The cats were instantly intrigued and were scuffling around in the mess like moles.  The mountain would eventually end up strewn throughout the house, all the way upstairs.  The least of her cleaning worries, she thought.

Dave pulled the top of the box off almost with reverence.  The smell of the dry, dusted rubber hit them like a wave.

''Ach, my little dumplink," he said, twirling an imaginary mustache, "vee vill haf zo much fun today, ja?"

"Give me the boots, Adolph:' she countered, smiling.  "Much fun today, ja!"

"Does not the fraulein zink that she may not be, encumbered?" he said, gesturing towards her, still twirling his invisible mustache.

“Huh?"

She glanced down at herself.  Oh yeah, she thought.  Scruffy cut offs and a T shirt reading "Fuck 'Em If They Can't Take A Joke" weren't quite in the new character's mold.  At least it didn't take long to get out of 'em.  As she finished, Dave pulled her hands behind her back and tied them together with a short length of cord.  It was beginning.

He held them up to her.  She stood in the Position: legs spread, back arched, breasts thrust outwards.  He walked close and slowly brushed rubber over her nipples.  They hardened almost instantly.

He pulled over the Eames ottoman and gave the command, "Sit!"

When once again she assumed the Position, her legs from her soles to just under her crotch were a black so intense you could almost imagine yourself falling into it.  The rubber glistened as if it had been only moments before oiled or greased.  He brought out the full, length mirror, and she watched herself walk and turn and then stand while he pulled more of the stuff out of the box as the cats doodled.

What came next was a French cut, a very high French, cut, rubber garment that zipped up the back and had sleeves without openings on the end.  It looked to be very tight.  It was, and, like the boots, it squeezed her gently but very firmly wherever it covered her.  As Dave zipped her up and she stood with her arms out away from her sides enticing Ralph with the long strap hanging from the end of the right sleeve, she noticed a second zipper running vertically down the front of the suit and disappearing between her legs.  The implications were rather clear.  She smiled.

Dave reached around and pulled her arms back behind her, bringing the tips of the sleeves back out in front of her and threading the strap on the one sleeve through the buckle on the other.  He pulled and tugged and yanked until the two sleeve tips very nearly touched.  It was as though she no longer had arms at all.  It was delicious.

She couldn't exactly say the same thing for the gag; it was huge and tasted of rubber.  It also filled her mouth to perfection, her cheeks bulged silkily above and below the padding.  One of his hands kneaded her crotch, and the other rubbed a nipple that was pushing, knob-like, through the rubber.  He kissed the end of her nose, pulled down the belly zipper, and lowered her to the rug.  Wanda had wandered outside.  As he licked his tail, Ralph paused from time to time to give the two of them an incurious glance.  He later followed Wanda's example.

Later, seated on a stool, with the zipper back up, she watched him rooting around in the box.  A thin metal pole spread her legs apart.  Another, longer pole was rigidly attached to the center of the spreader and rose to meet an elliptical band that locked around her waist.  She could bend forward very slightly from the waist, and that was about all.  She needed a drink of water.

The effect was exquisite, perfection.  It even had a ridiculous little rubber skirt that didn't quite cover up her zippered crotch.

He gave her a drink of water and then got out the second gag.  The outfits had to match, after all.  There was even more mouth packing, and the padded face mask was a broad black band that covered her lower face from her chin clear up to and extending beyond her nose.  Incredible!  She could hardly even hum.

Then came a very high collar with a strap dangling from the front center.  Dave walked her into the playroom and ran the end of the strap through a large ring sticking out of the wall.  The other end of the strap he tethered off to her right thigh just under her crotch.  Now she had to stand.  If she attempted to kneel, she'd end up with her face pressed up against the wall.

The rat!  Already she was heating up inside the suit.  It had very definitely been worth the wait!