QR BUNNY
Rope Bunny · /ˈɹoʊp ˈbəni/ · (noun): A person who takes the role of being restrained, tied up, and/or immobile for sexual play. Usually a submissive partner.
(1929 words)
2
The staffer’s words sink in as a mix of dread and exhilaration. The glossy, black latex bundle seems to shimmer with its own anticipation, its surface indented by the padlock that rests atop it, as if under the weight of its implication. My heartbeat quickens, a reminder of my unwitting commitment.
In a daze, I come to my feet, following the latex-clad attendant as they lead the way toward the opposite end of the bar. I’m acutely aware of each step as I cross the floor. Knowing gazes turn toward us as we move through the crowd; a blend of amusement and approval. Whispers ripple through the cloud and someone I can’t see begins applauding—a few more join.
Led to a door, I enter and hear it close behind me, cutting off the bar’s din and leaving me with the latex and my racing thoughts. Two female assistants in sleek latex uniforms wait inside, their expressions a blend of professionalism and quiet amusement.
The reality of what’s about to happen hits me full force, and I can’t help but wonder how I got here—and how I’ll feel once this suit is on.
“Welcome! We’re here to help you into your new suit. Have you worn latex before?”
The other takes the bundle from my hands, setting the padlock aside and unfolding the suit with practiced ease.
“I… uh… maybe just gloves. Nothing so…”
My gaze is locked on the full-body affair held up in front of me.
“Ah good, so it’s not exactly your first time.”
As she speaks, her partner quickly takes a few measurements of my body, before nodding her approval.
“This suit should fit you perfectly, if you could undress, we can begin!”
Speechless, my head swimming with anxiety and anticipation, I begin to undress. My fingers tremble as I remove my clothes.
“All the way, please. Rubber doesn’t fit well over fabric. Don’t worry—this is a brand-new piece, and even if it weren’t, we take great care in cleaning our gear.”
“I… okay.”
My cheeks flush a deeper shade of red as I remove my bra and panties. Now naked, I stand with my arms instinctively drawn close, trying to cover myself. One of the attendants offers me a small ribbon of fabric.
“If you’d like, you can use this blindfold. I’ve found that it often helps ease the self-consciousness and heighten sensations. It might make it easier to let go and enjoy. We can take it off once you’re dressed!”
I take the ribbon from her, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric. The thought of the blindfold helps settle my nerves; it feels like a promise of relief from the intense scrutiny. I nod slightly, accepting the gesture.
“Thank you. I think I’ll try it.”
I align the fabric with my eyes and am plunged into darkness. One of them ties it behind my head expertly, and guides me to sit down on a soft, rubbery chair.
“We’re going to lube you up now. Let us know if you feel any discomfort and we can take a short break, okay?”
Alone in my deprivation of sight, I nod quietly. There’s the sound of a pump, and a wet squelching noise, before I feel a cold, rubber-gloved hand on my calf, spreading a jelly-like liquid across my legs.
“This is a lubricating oil, because the latex is skintight, it will make dressing in it easier, as well as enhance the sensations of being tightly encased.”
I nod, my mind entirely focused on the roving hands of the assistant as they continue to massage the oil on each leg. I lose track of their four rubbery hands and without my sight they seem to multiply, caressing me and coating my feet, my calves, my thighs. My body grows increasingly warm, and my breath comes shallower.
They begin to spread the oil around my hips and waist, and another hand stops short below my navel.
“May I…?”
I flush an even deeper shade of red, biting my lower lip and nodding slowly.
Her gloved hand, saturated with oil, reaches down between my legs, gently massaging the lotion into every crack and crevice of my body. A soft moan escapes my lips before I can stop it.
What kind of lewd porno have I ended up in…?
Her movements are quick and professional, and they continue they work, spreading the lubricant around each breast, my shoulders, and down each arm. They work it across each of my fingers and up my neck until I’m well-oiled from the chin down.
Sitting there in my slick layer of lubricant, I feel both vulnerable and strangely liberated. The tactile sensations are overwhelming, every touch amplified by the oil. My mind races with a tumult of excitement and self-doubt.
The initial embarrassment of being so exposed is gradually replaced by a burgeoning sense of anticipation. With every passing second, the growing warmth between my legs and the pulsing thrill in my chest signal that despite the uncertainty, I’m edging closer to surrendering to the experience.
“Okay, we’re going to begin dressing you in the rubber now.”
I hear the rustle of latex somewhere next to me.
“This suit has attached gloves and toe socks, so we’re going to start with your feet. Please lift your right leg for us.”
I nod and comply, and a gloved hand supports my leg as I lift it. Then I feel the cold, slick latex brush against my skin, the sensation sending a shiver up my spine. The assistants work with practiced efficiency, guiding my foot into the opening of the suit. They ease the rubber over my toes, the snug fit making me acutely aware of every contour.
Even the interior of the suit is lubed, and the tight rubber glides into place easily.
“Just relax. It’ll feel odd at first, but latex molds to your body as you move around in it.”
They continue, inching the material upward, working it around my calf and up my thigh. I can feel the suit shifting and stretching with each movement. Once they’ve finished with the first leg, they repeat the process with the other. I can hear the soft rustle of latex; each adjustment heightening the sensation of the rubber tight against my skin. Becoming more intense, more encompassing.
“Please stand,”
I’m helped to my feet, and the suit is drawn up past my hips. They pause to make sure it’s properly aligned before pulling it into place. A soft vocalization resonates involuntarily from the back of my throat as my sex becomes tightly wrapped, the close contact of the latex both overwhelming and oddly comforting. My pelvic muscles clench, straining against the tight latex encasing me.
The assistants’ hands are gentle but firm, guiding the suit up around my waist, smoothing out any creases. My subconscious resistance had ceased, and they are able to work much faster than before.
“Almost there, we’re just going to pull the suit up over your torso now.”
The latex encases my body, growing more intense with every inch they pull up. Blinded, I can only focus on the pull of the material, the way it hugs every curve and line of my body in its intimate, airtight grip.
As the suit reaches my shoulders, they carefully manoeuvre it over my arms, aligning my fingers properly into the built-in gloves. They massage the air out of the suit with a faint wooshing noise, vacuuming the latex against my sensitized, oily skin.
Finally, they guide the suit up to my neck, I can feel the snug embrace of the latex as it envelops me completely, the sensation a mixture of confinement and liberation. My body squirms of its own accord, trying to find its place within the tight latex, but the rubber follows, clinging to every curve.
“Okay, we’re going to zip you up now. Suck in, please.”
I do as instructed, taking a breath and constricting my torso and belly. The rubber follows, adhered to my skin in its vacuum embrace. There is a quiet ‘zpppt’ as the material tightens around me, first my waist, then behind my shoulders, until I feel it hit the end of its track high up the back of my neck.
I relax, but the latex does not. Fully enclosed, the tightness holds, unyielding. Nothing I’ve worn has come remotely close, not even a wet swimsuit. It tents as I breathe, its vacuum embrace ensuring its inner surface is pressed tightly against every inch of my sensitive skin.
I’m swimming in oil… it felt weird at first, but now it’s kind of nice.
The hands leave my body, and I’m left in darkness, my own now-gloved hands sliding across the smooth rubber wrapped tightly around my neck, my chest, my hips, my…
“Beautiful, we’ll spray you with a lubricating oil now and polish the suit. Do try to stand still.”
A bottle is shaken, followed by a few soft ‘pssh’ sounds as a cool mist settles on the rubber around me. Then the hands return, this time pressing a soft fabric against my body. Slowly, they trace dizzying circles, rubbing the polish into the latex with gentle, deliberate motions.
Her command to stand still turns out to be more difficult than I’d imagined. The tight rubber makes every nerve of my body that much more sensitive, that much more pliant to touch. With no sight to focus on, I’m squirming, wriggling in place as they work, my breath coming in soft needy gasps.
And then they are done.
“You look… amazing.”
There’s a slight breathiness to the comment. Just a little twinge that makes it feel sincere, unexpected. I blush.
I feel hands behind my head, and the blindfold is undone. As the darkness recedes, I blink against the sudden light.
I look down at myself, my breath catching. The latex hugs my body from neck to toe, its glossy surface reflecting the light in a sleek, polished sheen. The suit clings tightly, accentuating every curve and detail. Without any mirrors in the room, I can’t get a good sense of what I look like, but I feel… so…
The door to the room opens, interrupting my thoughts. The attendant from before steps in, their eyes widening in approval.
“Ah, you look spectacular. Very good. Now we’ll lock you in.”
I freeze, my gaze darting to the padlock resting on the table.
“L-lock?”
The attendant nods, their expression calm but firm.
“Yes, thirty minutes, as agreed.”
The attendant moves behind me, their movements smooth and professional. They retrieve the padlock and hold it up for me to see. I’m barely able to register the implication when I feel the metal slide into place behind my neck.
The cold, metallic click resonates through my body in a sensuous shiver as the lock is secured through a small, reinforced loop, securing the zipper to the top of its train and preventing removal.
With a nod of approval, the attendant taps something on their phone, showing me a timer starting to count down my thirty minutes. They smile.
“Come on out when you’re ready, I’m sure the crowd will be eager to see you.”
The two attendants who dressed me stand on either side of the door, smiling in admiration. One holds the door open and the other gestures forth.
I take a deep breath, the weight of the padlock pressing against the back of my neck. My second skin is tight and unforgiving, yet strangely exhilarating.
In for a penny…
I step out.