MORE SMUT
(4086 words)
0
The suit lay folded neatly atop the remains of its meagre packaging; nothing more than a thick largeish envelope, carefully cut to free its contents.
Pitch black fabric shimmered with an ethereal gloss, not quite a mirror-finish, but far from matte black. Like pantyhose spun from black, glassy fibers.
Cradled atop was a small card, featuring nothing more than a stylized logo:
encase.
I gave the room a final scan, making sure everything was in place before setting things in motion.
I swapped my comfy pajamas out for a bath towel and willed a little bit of damp into my hair.
Let’s see where this goes…
I stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed.
A deep breath,
a silent beat…
…then I pushed the door open once again.
1
Cold air poured out as the door swung open. Hana shrugged, pulling her towel tight against the sudden chill of her bedroom. The dry air carried away any damp left on her body.
Her inline skates lay neatly by the door and at the front of her consciousness; she had quite the night planned.
It was monsoon season, and these days if it wasn’t raining, everyone would be out in force. With many rinks and spaces closed for quarantine, there were few places that weren’t crowded or reserved.
And so, she had taken to skating in the hours past midnight. The streets were silent, and no one was around to stop her from jumping the barrier to the closed rink.
Alone, and unobserved, Hana’s outfits gradually changed. Since the dream, her clothing became more about ‘feel’ than ‘look’. Outfits became tighter and clingier. Fabrics became softer and stretchier.
With each new piece, tights sheathed more and more of her body. Shorts, leotards, bodystockings… softly wrapping garments that turned her thoughts inward; made her more aware of her body.
The way they clung after a sweaty session, the way they pulled at her body. Their suggestions to move a certain way, breathe a certain way, feel a certain way.
And this time, she had her new catsuit.
The package had come in a while ago, but it had been weeks since the last time she could head out. A terrible bout of daily showers ruined the streets for skating. Hana waited, eager and in hungry anticipation for the right night to come.
But tonight, the skies stayed clear. Tonight, the window was open.
Hana turned her attention to getting dressed. She lifted the sleeveless encase. catsuit by its shoulders, allowing the light fabric to unravel and hang before her.
It felt like dense pantyhose – sheer when overstretched but predominantly opaque. It had quite a spring to it; oddly rubber-like to touch. But still it slid across her skin like water.
The suit had no sleeves, featuring instead a high turtleneck and a fully enclosed back. Small circles allowed her arms out of the suit, but her legs would remain encased within its attached socks.
Instead of a zipper, access into and out of the garment was reliant on the elasticity of its unique, glossy fabric.
This was not news to her; it was, after all, what she had ordered.
Hana bunched up the suit, gathering it at the neck so she could slide its socks directly onto her feet.
As she pushed deeper into the suit, she slowly unraveled the fabric, painting it onto her legs as if coated in a soft, shimmery oil.
She pulled the fabric up, applying the material strongly against her inner thighs and firmly between her legs.
This catsuit featured a diamond gusset — the only seam in the fabric — that aligned itself perfectly with her sex. It pressed against her and sank into the more sensitive details of her anatomy.
High around her waist, the added leverage of her hips locked the suit tight. It felt like a gentle crotch rope, starring gusset as knot.
She continued to squeeze into the suit, fitting her afterthought-bosom easily into its torso.
A slight adjustment, then she tucked her arms through the armholes. With the help of a few rolling shrugs, the suit climbed across her chest. It slid a loud rasp as its tight collar closed snug around her neck.
Hana was encased.
From neck to toe, suit’s fit was absolute. It hugged her in a sensual embrace, pushing and pulling – a near-constant distraction from anything outside of its mesh-like skin.
And the gusset… how very distracting it was. She could just bear it standing still, but it followed her wherever she went. It rubbed tight when she moved, and it felt so nice to just…
I should cover up with a shirt.
It was more of an exercise tunic. A loose sleeveless tank designed to drape over the body. It just about covered the essentials… just about.
Underneath, the suit continued to settle, seeking out the tightest fit around its occupant. Its unique fabric felt phenomenal to be inside. It slid and tugged against her body with a fuzzy static, like a tightening sheath of damp silk. Yet, it grabbed her like a slippery rubber film.
She was thoroughly distracted from her warm-ups and stretches. There just didn’t seem to be a way for her to move her body without some sort of sensation. Her cheeks were flush, and the suit thoroughly tight. If her room weren’t air-conditioned, she would have already been sweating.
2
Getting around her room was different. Her second skin was slippery and slinky, and her stockinged feet slid around her carpeted floor as if already skating.
Hana sat next to her inline skates.
Time to skate.
She reached into her skate and tossed the socks aside. The boot should interface directly with the suit.
With a tight pointe, she slid her stockinged toes into the maw.
The skates’ original bootliners had been replaced with a premium one. It was heat-molded to the exact shape of her feet. Getting into them was usually a struggle, but the thin, slick fabric made it easy.
Bootlaces and straps were drawn tight to lock the boot perfectly onto her feet. These skates, like her suit, were now an extension of her body.
She grabbed her bag, lit up a small safety light, and skated on out.
---
It was just past midnight when her wheels hit the streets. The hot, humid tropical air was like a dense wall; a thick, suffocating miasma.
Getting out of her block was more than a warmup in this heat, and she quickly started to sweat.
But Hana welcomed sweat. Sweat glued her tights to her body. It made them tighter and clingier, and it was always fun to do her cooldown stretches in sticky tights.
She weaved through the blocks of her neighborhood. The ground was smooth and dry, and her skates, quick and responsive. The compression of the suit kept her muscles taut and balanced.
The warm air rushed past her as she silently cruised through the walkways. It cooled just enough for her to keep going… and she had to keep going, or she would be swallowed by the humidity yet again.
Already she could feel the suit taking on more sweat. It clung to her body, sinking tighter with every exhalation.
Light, modern disco music pulsed on rhythmically in her head. It energized her. The heightened sensations offered by her thin second skin moved her to dance. She spun as she liked, trusting her legs to stay beneath her.
Finally, with a small three-turn, she pirouetted out of the apartment void decks and into the park surrounding her neighborhood.
The open air was slightly cooler here and she took the change of pace to catch her breath. She had to lower her mask just to draw enough air through her nose to calm her beating heart.
Fresh air wrapped around her body as she glided on through the asphalt paths that snaked across the park. It was as if the suit shrank around her as the wind found its way under her tunic. It cooled the wet fibers of her catsuit and brushed against her second skin like gentle fingers drawing across her body.
Hana caught her breath, and her thoughts turned inward. She flexed her kegels and bit her lip. At some point along the way, the suit had gotten very tight between the legs. Moisture — be it sweat or something else — served only to trap air, vacuuming the fabric taut against her folds.
Her cheeks were bright red, and her breaths were short. She quickly glanced around her, scanning the park for any soul who might be around to chastise her for her lewd thoughts.
A food delivery rider buzzed on through on their electronic bike, uninterested in this strange person gliding through in the dark.
Best not to get too distracted — she was here to skate, and the rink was just up ahead. Stretches could come later.
Hana got on with it, channeling her lustful energy into her wheels. Modern beats gave way to light classical waltzes, and she glided into the rink as if ice.
First, some drills: her edges, backward glides… a few turns in the various directions… once she started getting into practice proper, Hana began to refocus, and her outfit receded to the back of her mind once again. Instead of her curves, her femininity… her pleasure… she thought about her form, her edges, and her balance.
Well, she tried to.
Occasionally, a back stretch or puff of the chest would be met with resistance from the slick fabric that encased her. Or an overstretched stride and the suit would squeeze her butt and hips just right.
Each time she was reminded of the suit, it felt tighter than the last. Must have been her sweat — melting into the suit’s fabric and clinging to her body.
She focused her drills on jumps.
First, the waltz jump: what was once an indomitable obstacle was now routine practice. Then, something relatively new: single Salchows. Significantly more daunting, but she was slowly working the nerve, form, and strength for a double.
Her sweat was pouring now. The exertion of jumps was intense. It streamed down her brow, soaking her cotton face mask, and making it difficult to breathe. The whole ordeal only made her sweat more. And the suit took on more and more of it, melting on to her skin and flowing across it like a liquid.
Its slick fabric wrapped tightly against her naked body, stirring inside of her a red-faced lust. It overcame her, flushing her with a mindless vigor.
Her focus drifted, carried away by the sweeping throes of her music, and her body. The drills devolved, and Hana’s practice slowly gave way to a sensual dance. She spun across the rink, flowing and stepping to the new sensations that swirled inside her.
More so than it did with her bodyhose before, the suit adhered to her body as a tight second skin; a thin, rubbery film stuck to her, laminating every crease and crevice in its inescapable touch… it was tight… so tight… and she was aware of every muscle, every fiber of her body that was lifted, caressed by the suit… the suit that encased her so perfectly… that hugged her… gripped her… held her… in its elastic embrace…
As she pushed and pulled her body across the rink, leaning deeper into each edge and pulling tighter into every spin. Her arms spun outward for balance, then into a tight hug for speed. Her gloved hands traced the small of her waist, the curve of her hips, the dip of her pelvis…
The music swept her away and the caress of the suit carried her through its own sensual choreography.
Sweaty strands of hair plastered across her face and her mouth hung agape. Disciplined breaths gave way to more animalistic heaving and perhaps even the quietest of moans. Whimpers lost to the wind as the figure traced wide graceful arcs in the lightless rink. A body that danced a melody unheard, that chased a sensation unseen.
The girl whipped around, tossing beads of sweat as her steps and turns heightened to a frenzy. The energy building within her, swirling faster and tighter and deeper and then weightlessness.
Euphoria flooded her brain as the white-hot intensity of the moment culminated in an orgasmic flourish — a Salchow. The world swirled around her in a slow-motion fugue… once, twice!
Hana’s skate landed noiselessly and her body arched gracefully, opposite leg spinning widely around to dissipate the energy of her jump. The torrent of sensation washed over her in a blissful release. Sweeping orchestral movements gave way to lighter strings and woodwinds, carrying her off into the afterglow of the moment.
Hana’s consciousness reeled, uncertain if she’d just had an orgasm from skating. She learned it was hard to tell the euphoria of a perfect skating line from that of a strong climax.
But goodness, did the line feel amazing. Steps and turns flowed together in ways she’d never before. Every spin she spun more, every jump she jumped higher.
Her form was perfect… her suit was perfect.
It guided her movements; held her muscles tight and lifted her chest high. She was encased in pure pleasure, and it poured into her skating, into her dance.
Hana had to catch her breath. She wanted to go again. She had to go again.
But then the night sky flashed a brilliant white. As if on cue, lightning illuminated thick, dark clouds that billowed unseen in the darkness of the moonless night sky.
3
Thunder followed quickly — very quickly — the storm was very near. Hana missed the rising winds midst the mental cacophony of her exertion.
She had to leave now. The last thing she wanted was wet skates. The metal bearings in her wheels would rust by morning. She’d rather spend the rest of the night enjoying her suit than cleaning and drying her equipment.
Hana gathered her belongings and climbed the barricade out of the rink. As she skated on through the darkness of the park her heart hammered furiously in her chest. She controlled her breathing, taking slower and deeper breaths to calm herself.
But with each exhalation she felt the suit collapse tighter and tighter. Now thoroughly wet with perspiration, it clung to her as if vacuum sealed to her body; as if the liquid formed an airtight layer that allowed air out but not back in again. Each flex of her muscle, each stride of her skate coaxed the suit tighter and tighter.
Like a rubber band it wrapped around her; an unbroken loop of fabric that enveloped her. Anchored over her shoulders and tight around her neck, it was like a snug pair of leggings she just could not climb out of.
As she moved it held fast, creaking like latex. It pulled deep between her legs, forming a deep crease unseen. Every flex of her pelvic floor was met with the same resistance — that damned diamond gusset, like a tiny mouth sucking on her sex. Reeling itself in deeper and deeper.
Hana bucked her hips, but she could not move away from the distraction so barely hidden underneath her tunic.
Her skate slipped; a light drizzle had begun whilst she was distracted, and the floor had become slick with fresh rain. The void deck was not far, but her progress was slowed by the wet floor. Rubber wheels find no grip on wet asphalt.
She saw it coming from the side. A white wall, rushing towards her. Tropical rain had a nasty habit of taking you by surprise. Like a crashing wave it swept across the landscape, hammering her sensitive body with heavy drops of water.
Hana clamored for the shelter of her block. The minute it took for her to clear the distance was enough to completely drench her outfit, regardless of whether it was wet before or not.
Her feet were locked tightly within the armored boot of her skate, underneath countless buckles and laces. Like a fawn learning to walk on ice she gingerly worked her way back home, eventually making it to her elevator.
She jammed in her floor and shut the door. Bracing herself against the handrail, she attempted to catch her breath.
But with each exhalation, the suit shrank tighter around her body. As if the water gave it strength, it squeezed her with impunity. Where she wasn’t shielded by her tunic, her legs shone with an ethereal luster. Like oiled rubber it reflected the strip lights in the elevator ceiling in glistening highlights.
Her hair, soaked, dribbled a constant trickle of water on to her now-heavy tunic, which clung over the suit to her heaving chest. Her pert nipples either told everyone how cold she was or just how incredibly pleasurable it had become to be trapped inside this sticky… impossibly tightening catsuit.
She almost forgot to leave the elevator.
Blocking the door with her arm she fumbled out into the lobby and back to her apartment. It wasn’t even the slick skates that hindered her progress but the ceaseless sensual torment of her shrinking outfit. She fumbled with her keys and threw her door open, pouring into her apartment and onto her door-side stool.
Her lower regions quivered as she bent over to reach her skate buckles. The compression of her lower abdomen squeezed out a lewd whimper, along with whatever warm moisture had collected deep within.
Hana’s cheeks flushed deep red, and she gnawed on her lower lip. Fingers trembled as they fumbled with her skate’s clasps — her mind simply wasn’t there for the task.
All she could focus on was the suit pulling deep behind her as her body bent forward. The act only gave the catsuit more purchase between her legs, giving it the leverage to pleasure her within its embrace.
The knots and buckles refused to budge.
Hana threw her head back, arching her back in an exasperated moan that was both frustration and pleasure. She couldn’t get the damned skates off.
And the suit was so fucking tight.
She grasped at her torso, grabbling at her waist where leggings usually ended. Here the fabric simply continued. No waistband to grab at; to climb out of; to escape from. The rubbery material simply continued. Wrapping itself around her in an infinite loop that refused to let her go; refused to stop shrinking. Tighter and tighter around her.
Hana tugged at the wet fabric, but it just would not come free. Like rubber it tented, sliding across her skin but maintaining its tight, vacuum seal on her body. It only snapped back against her, rippling pain and pleasure.
Her hands travelled upward and grasped either breast tightly. Her nipples pushed through the fabric against her palms and the friction sent jolts of pleasure across her chest and straight to her brain. Another moan, louder this time, less conscious of itself.
Feminine noises whimpered and whined as she continued to pleasure herself. Her palms drew circles over her stiff nipples and her body twitched and bucked and arched at the building pleasure.
On and on, she forced herself to continue the torturous circles until all at once, her body seized. Her contracting abdomen hunched her over, squeezing her tormented breasts as the pleasure crested over her. Hana’s toes curled and she moaned into her knees.
Every muscle in her body tensed and twitched as the waves of orgasm washed forth from some unknown space inside her torso. And as if she’d gazed directly into a flash of lightning, stars and strange lights flashed randomly in her vision. Her body twitched in brief spasms in the immediate afterglow of the moment.
In the brief clarity, Hana located the problem — her bootlace was stuck in a double overhand.
She picked at the stubborn dead knot with her fingers and unraveled it. Almost at once her skate came loose; the other followed quickly.
Even then, the wet socks of her catsuit were virtually glued into her liners. The molded liner peeled off, leaving her feet coated in an impossibly tight sock of this strange rubbery material. The crease of each toe was visible in the vacuum-tight stocking of her catsuit, and it took a few forced wiggles to get the blood flowing through once more.
Hana kicked her skates aside and arched her back, grasping the bench she sat upon as if to stop herself from lifting up into the air.
It was impossible for her to think of anything but the suit. How tight it had become, how persistent its sensual assault on her body.
Wet spandex clung to the skin, but this suit was a whole other being. It was as if it had become impermeable. Airtight and slick, simultaneously sticky and slippery.
Underneath, the material felt organic, like the inside of a mouth rubbing against her skin. There was no air between the suit and her body, only a thin film of something oily and sticky.
She heaved in the afterglow of the orgasm, struggling to catch her breath. But the stimulation was ceaseless, and already another wave was building inside her. Her nipples tingled, but the warmth continued on downward.
She almost tore off her tunic as she entered her room.
The dry cool air began to whisk away the moisture on her skin. But even as the suit cooled, it continued to feel wet against her body. And her sex continued to feel wet against the suit.
Hana’s naked form was painted in glossy black. She could make out her nipples, her navel… the fabric was vacuumed tight within her cleavage, and she didn’t need to see between her legs to feel how aggressively the catsuit was sucking on her body. This was beyond skintight.
Where the body was coated, it was hypersensitive, and even the fresh breeze of her air-conditioning unit tickled and teased her.
She grasped at the edge of the suit’s tight collar but it stuck to her like sticky rubber. Even the armholes were taut enough to hold vacuum. Like her bootliners, her suit had become perfectly molded to her form. Somehow, she had become coated in thin, shrinking rubber. All it took was a little moisture.
She was reeling on her knees, arms folded as her hands rubbed her collarbone. The brush of her fingers emphasized the tightness of the suit’s shrinking turtleneck. Around her neck, it felt inescapable, inevitable. Her hips gyrated, rocking back and forth against the suit. She didn’t even need to touch herself.
Hana vocalized in wordless pants and whimpers. Thoughts came to her in flashes of erotic sensation. The liquid of her consciousness boiled over in waves of rolling pleasure. Blurry flashes of her room became double exposed with the heat of rubber against her sex. The diamond gusset, now fully rubberized, suckled and squeezed and milked and pleasured.
She fell forward on her hands and knees, squeezing forth a long, stretching groan as her pelvic muscles continued to spasm against its bonds. Her brain reeled as if the orgasm was ending but the torment simply continued.
Hana squeezed her legs closed but the suit was already in there with her. Her eyes squeezed shut and her knees bent inward but the pleasure continued to roll over her body. Wave after wave, the suit tightened and shrank and sucked and pulled.
The girl’s back arched and her toes curled and her eyes shut and her mouth gasped as the pleasure crashed and roiled in a drowning wash of frothing nonsense. Like a hot flush of ethereal light, it burned in, washing away tirelessly at Hana’s consciousness until it was no more.
---
A ringing in the ears.
The slow rise and fall of my chest.
The sweet clarity and warmth of oxygen flooding my brain.
My toes hurt.
And I needed to pee.
A deep breath.
I opened and closed my hands, willing the blood back into my fingers.
Hana ceased to be. Subsumed in my canon of subconscious kink until ready to be reexperienced.
I sat up and winced. It was always a little painful after it was good. I’d have tomorrow to rest, anyway.
It took a bit to blink away the sand in my eyes. I stood and gave the ol’ body a good creaky stretch.
The suit always fit best at the end.
A thin ray of golden sunlight squeezed through the curtains.
If I washed up now I could still make it for a nice dinner.