Consider the following:

Before you there lay a moderately-sized box. It is nondescript – plain. Cardboard with no print.

The packaging opens to reveal a clear bag; within it, a neatly folded garment. It is shiny, and appears to be translucent, but with a smoky black tint.

The clear bag is quickly discarded.

As you handle the material, what you were previously only “fairly certain” of, you now know for fact. As you have come to expect, the garment is made of latex. Smooth, supple, and very generously lubricated, the smoke-clear material warms quickly in your hands, just as your body warms in turn.

You turn the garment around and unfold it.

The outfit that hangs limp before you is of the full-bodied persuasion. Holding it by its shoulders, a slightly heavier gas mask hangs limply, ‘head’ bowed low before you – molded of the same smoke-colored translucent rubber. Each arm ends in a glove, and each leg ends in a sock, complete with separate toes.

It is not immediately clear how one might enter into its confines; as you continue to study the garment, you become aware of a faint web of perforated tubes, thin and barely perceptible, lining the interior of the suit’s seams. They wrap around the inner surface of the rubber skin in a way that conjures up mental images of the female form – sleek curves across the hips, and a heart-stopping dip toward the pelvis.

The network is subtle in appearance, despite its exhaustive reach, and appears to converge in two places – in the mouthpiece of the mask, and in the groin of the suit.

And that’s when you become acquainted with your way into the suit.

Unconvinced, you return your attention to the box it came in, perhaps looking for some sort of manual, or set of instructions clarifying your method of entry.

To say that you found nothing helpful would be both correct, but also technically wrong. For you did miss a couple of items left behind in the box; though none of them were of any instructional assistance.

Instead, you find two things. Both phallic in nature. In one hand, an inflatable plug of a simple design; in the other, a generous bottle of silicon oil.

The plug takes on a very neutral appearance. It is semi-inflated, but there is no clear indication of how to further inflate or deflate it. Its base is designed to nestle flat within the folds of a biological female, with a single ring on the outside, to pull it out with.

You lay all of the items on the bed that was always in front of you, and briefly consider the absurdity of the outfit you’d been gifted.

Let’s face it, any sane, run-of-the-mill layperson would leave it at that. Maybe they’d take the plug – but then again they’d have no way to operate it. Or perhaps they’d take the suit? But how would they squeeze into it? Reverse-birth? Arguably the most useful thing in this entire lineup was the bottle of lube.

Well… of course, you aren’t necessarily the most rational of human beings… are you? You… well, we, belong to a small sub-set of the marginally insane, don’t we? We, who gaze upon the sap of a tree rendered solid and think, “I want to be covered entirely in that.” We, who learn of a new, complicated locking device and think, “That’s incredibly erotic.” We, who faced with a suit of impermeable rubber, find ourselves hot, bothered, and thinking, “I’ve got to find a way into that.”

And so you do.

The first thing to go is your clothes, assuming you were wearing any for this occasion to begin with.

Once that’s done, the ritual may commence. It’s one we’re all familiar with. The oil that touches your skin is cold at first, but quickly warms up to you as you work it across your body. Everyone has their own way – be it legs first, or top-down. Like a pre-exercise warm-up, you work your way through the movements, until you are slick from the neck down.

The oil is warm, like a layer of insulation from the frigid air outside. Your body is slick. Skin glides against skin effortlessly, and the mere thought of it is significant to you.

Your attention turns now to the suit, as you consider your plan of attack. The rubber is quite pliable – significantly so. Almost… unrealistically so. Of course, it would have to be. As a compromise, however, the suit also appears slightly looser than most others would – your disappointment is nearly palpable.

But... that shouldn’t stop you.

You decide upon a plan of attack that makes sense to you – divine inspiration, perhaps. With an entryway in the middle of the body, the only way that makes sense is to fold the suit, and, by proxy, yourself.

You arrange the suit as if it were bent over, reaching for its toes, and you mimic the position sitting on the bed. The suit’s opening is taut before you. You do your best not to grimace as you work the entryway open, coaxing it to stretch so as to accommodate your body.

Your feet are first to enter, and you draw the narrowing tubes around your legs, taking a moment to relish the sensation of rubber-on-skin. With your experience, it isn’t difficult to sit your toes into their ‘sleeves’. The toe-socks are surreal – an uncanny mimicry of your own body. Their anatomically-correct shape allows for them to more perfectly mold to your form. The tubes within the suit are also imperceptible to your touch.

You bring the suit up around your calves; around your knees, before you reach in with your arms. The inner surface of rubber is slick… slimy, almost. It lends the suit an almost organic quality, as if it were some sort of rubbery beast that you were poking around within.

Hunched over, you gradually nestle your hands into their respective gloves, before ironing out the sleeves across your forearms.

The position is awkward, and the tension of the rubber makes it impossible for you to stand. On your hands and feet now, you feel the tug in your hamstrings as you attempt to pull the rubber farther up your limbs, but the act is futile – the suit’s maw snags at your neck.

The only way to proceed farther is to dive in completely.

It’s not something that’s stopped you before.

You take a moment to regulate your breathing – you’re going to need to head straight for the mask, so that you may continue breathing from within the suit.

Your gloved hands easily find the mask, and you navigate its goggles and mouthpiece by touch. It is modeled after a GP-5 Mask, one that you’re quite familiar with by experience, and so donning it comes quite naturally to you – only the position makes it difficult.

With a deep breath, you pull your head into the suit’s opening. You struggle briefly to find your way through the folds of rubber toward the mask, and as you do so you become aware of a slick rubbery creeping as the stretched opening begins to slide down your scalp and neck.

Now, the suit dictates the pace of your donning of it, as the rubber becomes able to relieve itself of its stretch. While you scrabble to align the mouthpiece to your face, the suit continues to align itself to you. Its slippery sleeves ride up your limbs as the opening continues to close over your back – its movement; so smooth and uninhibited that it seems more feature than bug. Your ears fill with the sound of squelching, creaking rubber as the suit begins to settle properly over your form.

As your mouthpiece aligns and your goggles settle over your eyes, you draw your first breath.

The initiation into the space you have confined yourself into is a violent one. As you draw breath, unseen valves split the airflow: half of your air comes from the outside world… and half comes from the suit’s internal network of tubes and pipes. As you draw breath, the suit collapses around your body – any air trapped between the rubber and your skin is quickly sucked away and into your lungs, and the rubber vacuums tightly against you in its hermetic embrace.

As you exhale, the valve shifts, and you feel a rush of warm air against your sex – the outlet valves lead to the ring of perforations around the suit’s opening.

Slowly, the suit begins to relax its grip on you as air gradually finds its way back in through the hole between your legs. Your next breath comes instinctively, and the suit breathes in around you once again. The sudden vacuuming of rubber against your body catches you off guard – it’s an intensely powerful sensation. With each breath you draw you evacuate more air, and the suit improves its fit against your body.

But you continue to lose tightness from the unclosed opening. In a somewhat obscene way, the loose flaps of excess material hang limply between your legs, allowing air to slowly permeate the confines of rubber. You close your eyes, relishing the sensations as you push the excess rubber into yourself. Whether your lubrication was natural or artificial, the process is painless… sensual, almost.

Another breath.

This time, the suit takes a little longer to relax… it’s a little bit harder for air to get through when the latex is slick against your walls.

But naturally… it’s not enough. It should be quite clear now, why the inventory of the box was as it was. But of course… that’s too much, isn’t it?

Another breath.

Your nipples strain against the shrinking rubber.

Of course you’re not done. That’s just not why you’re here. How could you possibly leave it now?

Another breath.

You moaned a little that time, didn’t you?

The suit loosens again. And of course, it relaxes in the most frustrating of places first.

Another breath.

You drew that one out longer on purpose.

It’s difficult to find the plug again with the new distractions you’d set yourself up for. The sensations are… mind-numbing, and your conscious experience begins to… skip over… the details of reality.

Another breath.

The rubber sucks tightly into your navel.

Wherever you go, your latex goes with you.

Your pour was a little heavy handed – you spill a generous amount of lube on the plug, your hands, and your knees.

Another breath.

You can’t help but wander – your hands glide effortlessly against your shrinking skin as you spread the lube across your body.

Another breath.

The tip of the plug finds you ready and aching. The mask muffles your moan as your trembling hands guide the toy in.

Another breath.

You barely stop yourself from crying out as the suction draws the slippery plug out of your hands and deep into your body. The rubber continues to tighten around you as you inhale, air whistling audibly through the network of fine tubes.

The valve clicks as you finish your breath – a surprise awaits you as you exhale. Your eyes roll back in their sockets as your breath inflates the plug between your legs, filling you out and numbing any semblance of conscious thought you once had.

This time, the suit does not relax its grip on your body. With the opening of the suit securely plugged closed, your atmosphere has become your own, and no outside air may penetrate your impermeable latex skin.

Another breath.

The rubber adheres to your body perfectly – it is vacuum-tight, and not a millimeter of skin is free from the ceaseless touch of latex.

The plug inflates once again, filling you out completely before the valve redirects air out through your mouthpiece.

A stray thought of unknown origin crosses your mind – some sudden realization you needed to prove. You reach between your legs and feel the base of the plug nestled tight within your folds. The excess latex of the opening is held firmly in place with no exposed flesh, and the suit’s hold on you is absolute.

You finger the ring dangling from its base, and give the plug a firm tug.

It refuses to budge.

You draw another shaky breath, stifling a whine as it draws the plug deeper into your body.

You tug at the plug again, but the vacuum remains too strong. As if to mock you, the plug inflates inside you as you exhale once more, further strengthening its hold inside you.

As you draw another breath the latex shrinks against you once more, binding you within the unbreakable lock of fluid dynamics.

Your fingers begin to scrabble against the once-open crotch of the suit, now plugged tightly and out of reach. Each futile tug serves only to pleasure you further; logic and conscious thought begin to blur into fantasy and sensation.

You take another breath and your hands frantically clamor across your rubber skin – you claw at your neckline but the suit remains an unbroken field of smoky black rubber, pulling tightly against the naked girl within.

Your breaths become tentative and shaky as you attempt to allow the suit to loosen.

Holding your breath completely, you pull at the plug within you. It seems futile, but you feel it stir, begin to budge. Barely, but you feel the plug begin to slide out of your body…

But the exertion is intense. Your muscles ache, starved of oxygen. Your lungs are on fire. The plug is almost half-out now – it has engorged to nearly twice its original size. You grit your teeth within the mask, willing yourself to push harder…

…but instinct ultimately prevails. Oxygen floods your lungs, pulling the plug out of your hands and back into place. You can’t help but writhe into your sheets against the full-bodied sensation of rubber reaffirming its impossible grip on your entirety.

Your next exhalation becomes a long, drawn out moan – the futility of your situation is clear, and you strain against your latex prison of endless torment. The hopelessness is a black rubbery void within you that stokes the fire in your loins. It warms you, and floods your senses, slowly but surely coating your brain and your soul…

Because let’s face it – you were smiling through that last breath, weren’t you?