Michael clipped the case shut and sauntered through the door. It was strange to see the crowd from this edge. He licked his dry lips and scanned the room. He couldn't think of a single time in three years that he had sat at one of the booths. Not since an early interview. Not even after shows; his crew generally went to the bar and avoided the lounge.
She was absolutely resplendent. The woman had jet black hair, teased out and pouring down her shoulders. The slinky red dress belonged in a costume shop, not on a patron.
"Yes?" She leaned her chin in her hands. Both of her hands were clad in silky red elbow gloves.
Michael chuckled, stroking his chin and stubble out of habit. "Oh... I thought you were calling me over?"
Her eyebrow raised. So did the corners of her eyes. She was smiling. That was good.
"Oh, absolutely. You were motioning over with your finger."
"No," she said shutting her eyes for a moment. "I think I was trying to get in touch with the waiter."
"Ah - no , no, no." Michael wiggled a finger. "That waiter was on your like a bird on a berry."
"Was he now?" Her eyebrows retreated, but her smile remained.
"He sure was. All you had to do was bat one eyelash, and he came zipping over." He gesticulated to indicate the awestruck waiter. He gulped; he didn't want to betray the fact that he was falling all over a pretty lady just as the staff did. "That's why I know that you were looking for me."
She chuckled again. "Do you play here often?" The film noire act dropped. She was all smiles.
"Four nights a week." Michael patted his saxophone case. The low thud was in sharp contrast to the staccato melodies of the interned instrument.
The woman leaned in, bobbing her head with her words. She had a perky, mysterious air. She was earnest.
"Jacqueline. Jackie. Jack. Your choice."
"I'll go with Jackie."
"Good." She said with a smile. "And...?"
He chuckled. "You'll have to find out tomorrow."
---
Mistress Hyde paced when she was thinking. She had a distinctly old-fashioned mentality about it; the bloodflow always helped her think.
And, she said, the squirms helped her concentrate.
The devilishly high heels of her boots wreaked havoc on the supple flesh of Number Two and Number Three. Both rubbersluts were gagged with a bit-gag; it stifled their words, but not their yelps. The sharp ends of her heel sent shivers through their shining black bodies, and the comforting weight of the balls of her feet made them gasp. Especially when she spent the time to walk on their chests, which she often did.
After all, it wouldn't befit the infamous Mistress Hyde to simply pace. No, she needed an audience to pontificate to. She didn't need any dissension, though, hence the heavy gags. Both men were tightly enclosed in rubber as well - and while they certainly didn't need to be, Mistress Hyde liked it that way. Pacing up and down the bound forms of Number Two and Number Three was an absolute delight as well.
"It would be improper not to return," she said aloud. "But to return would seem desperate. And I have appointments." Each sentence was punctuated by yelps from gagged and hooded heads.
"I can't seem desperate. Can I? Would it be seeming desperate to just go back one night? No, it wouldn't. Not at all. He's cute, and he winked at least once. I've been there four times and he was there all four times. And if I don't go back to the club, then I can't go back - the awkwardness of seeing him and having stood him up would be - it would be awful!"
"Mmnnggh... plllsmmmh...." Words dribbled from Number Three's mouth. He was arching his back; the pleasure of seeing his mistress's bottom and feeling the sting of her boots was intoxicating. He craved release, or the chance to please her. He wasn't going to get it.
"I'll go tomorrow. I'll say hello. I'll make it into a date, he finished the last set at midnight. That way - ohhh, oh hoh. That'll keep him waiting, if I show up late! Keep him squirming until the last moment, when I stop by for the last hour. Perfect, isn't it?"
A cacophony of moans and rubbery squeaks was all the affirmation Mistress Hyde needed.
----
The second meeting was similarly fruitful. He quite liked her already; not the prettiest or youngest woman he'd ever seen, but neither of those mattered - she was earnest, perky, and was quite the conversationalist. Her name was Jacqueline Hyde, and she was from the area. She wasn't supremely wealthy, but she had more money than he did. She owned a house; not gigantic, but bigger than most. It was under an hour away and she jokingly referred to it as "Hyde Manor," since the lot meant that there weren't many neighbors. She liked dancing, designing, and wasn't much for work - which usually involved her private consulting firm.
She was just as enamored with him. Supremely confident and in decent shape, he had a genuine passion for life. He used to travel, but hadn't gone anywhere in a few years. He loved lots of instruments, but the saxophone was his favorite. Getting gigs was insanely hard, and he was pretty lucky to be part of the house band. His contract was going to be up soon, and he was frantically searching for a new gig.
"So, Jackie, I was a little worried that you'd miss me."
"Were you really worried I wouldn't come?"
Michael laughed. "No... like I said. I thought you'd miss me."
"You mean - oh! Hah! Hah hah!" Jackie brought out a chirp of a laugh. "You are full of yourself, aren't you?"
"No, it's just a defense. I get this way when I'm with interesting ladies." Michael batted his eyelashes in a slightly rude parody.
"Mmm, well, do you think you'll manage to relax a bit?"
"Sure. We'll just try a date."
"A date?"
"A date."
"Next thursday?"
"Right after my last show, we'll go to this late night diner."
"Seriously, Michael?"
"Trust me."
---
Michael stared in the mirror. The scars were long. They felt deeper than they were.
Long remnants of too much fun lay across his back. Repated lashings had taken their toll. They had stepped over from a flog to abuse, and it was clear. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them. It was more than embarassing.
He didn't want anything like that. Not this time. No matter who she was, or what she was into, Jackie was nice. She wasn't going to see that side of him.
He stared at his belly, seeing more scars. More dangerous scars, burn marks and the results of indulging in too much of what probably wasn't a good thing.
Michael bit his lip as her ran his fingers over the marks. Flashes of his former partner were impossible to ignore. Tight rubber. Snug latex. Humiliation, pain, and pleasure. Unbreakable gags, metal pins, snug hoods. He closed his eyes and found himself drifting off into fantasy; kidnapped, rubberized, treated like a toy.
Such things were not to be. Not with her. Not again. He had to be normal.
Michael sighed and threw his shirt back on. He tipped the portrait with his former mistress's number down and shook his head on the way out the door. He was trying to keep a clear head, and scarcely noticed the black figure entering his room.
The diner was a converted cafe, serving special dishes for a rare midnight shift. The two took a seat and began getting along famously. There was magic in the air; it practically popped when Jackie excused herself to the restroom. Michael was left sitting and stewing.
"Number Nine, are you in his apartment?"
"Yes, Mistress." A low, feminine voice echoed from Jackie Hyde's phone. She paced back and forth in the ladies' room. "Number Nine, subject Michael is very important to me. Please do not disturb any of his possessions."
"Of course not, Mistress. He won't know I was ever here. Will he be returning soon?"
"No," she said, her voice echoing in the restroom. "I've got him occupied at dinner, still. Find anything, anything at all. I need some conversation! What does he like?"
Jackie was quite surprised when her stealth-slave mentioned the equipment... but not disappointed. She had another thing in common with Michael now.
She exited the restroom, and in an instant, she was no longer the malevolent Mistress Hyde. She was all smiles and chuckles, caring and earnest. She sat down, and for a half-hour, the magic continued. They didn't experience a dull moment. The chemistry was palpable. Jackie decided to make her move.
"So, Michael... what are you into? Not hobbies, you know. Anything kinky?"
The dark, sultry voice of Mistress Hyde was creeping into her tone.
"Any dark fantasies?"
If there was magic at the table, it was gone. A flash in the pan, a wrong word, and the dinner became solemn.
Jackie and Michael's dinner would drag on another half hour before the two returned to the car. A few words were spoken; perfunctory sentences, but nothing intimate. At each word, Jackie felt a prick on the back of her neck; it was an emotional hurt. Every word they exchanged was practiced and delicate. The spontaneity of the night was gone, and her heart was heavy by the time the two departed.
Michael gave her a long stare and a quick peck , and he was gone into the night.
Jackie went into her home. "Hyde Palace," as she referred to her house, was an urban home but just secluded enough by side-streets and poor navigation to be hidden. A wide lot gave her plenty of room - not that she needed it - to keep her proclivities to herself.
The moment she entered her home, she threw her coat to the ground. The faux fur landed in a slump like a cape, She strode, high heels clicking against the polished tile of her foyer and echoing through the spartan entryway.
"Number six," she said in a bored tone, "please retrieve my garments."
The sound of latex creaking indicated that #6 was awake and awaiting her. It hobbled closer, its wide hips practically bursting out of its custom smart-latex hobble skirt. Its dark amber flesh was visible below the skirt; a bare line between the skirt and black rubber stockings. Jacquelyne grinned wide - there was something extremely enamouring about seeing her servants like this, knowing that beneath all the garments they had humanity, hopes, thoughts, emotions...
And this is what made her sigh again. As Unit #6 continued to undress its mistress, Jackie flopped into a chair in the sitting room. Her feet flew into the air and she brought them hard on the wooden end-table. #6 quickly and quietly removed her heels.
Emotions. Annoying, stupid... emotions made a fool out of the greatest genius. Emotions brought down empires, and they were bringing down her.
"Number Six," she said, "When I released Number Five to the wild, did you... feel ..."
Jackie sighed.
"Did you feel like I broke a commitment?"
Number six moaned, its low, feminine voice barely audible through the heavy mask that covered its face. It continued to help its mistress, removing stockings and blouse next.
"I ... I mean, I can commit. I can commit just fine. I just need someone else to commit with me. Does that make sense? That's why I let Five go, because it - it wanted to try other things too. I mean, if it had wanted to continue its duties, I would have happily let it stay."
Number Six moaned again, something indiscernible fluttering through thick latex over its face.
She sighed and put her hand in her head. Maybe it wasn't commitment. Maybe it was just him. And if there was one maternal truism she agreed with, it was that people didn't change. Michael probably wouldn't ever change.
Unless she made him.
"Six, go downstairs. Call Victoria. I want to pick her brain for a bit."
She waited an hour, and then reached for her phone. She didn't want to just send a text message, but it was late...
Luckily, he was still awake.
"Listen, I think I said something I shouldn't have."
---
The room was jet black; Michael's bedroom had the shutters drawn and the blinds closed. He couldn't see her, only hear her.
"Michael," she said, "I want you to know I am sorry. I moved a little too fast."
He nodded. "I mean, if you just wanted to come over and fool around, that's fine. That's more than fine." She couldn't see it, but she knew he was smiling.
"Well," she sighed, "I was hoping for a little more than just fooling around."
He shrugged. "It's in the past. That was, what, three dates ago? I just wanted to take things slow, you know? We can, uh... you know, we can finally try something tonight. Something new."
He heard her moving. She was in the room, but couldn't see her. She seemed to have a total awareness of his room's layout. Curious, but really he was just looking forward to some heavy petting.
"Michael," she said once again, "We're not trying anything new."
"We're not?"
"We're trying something you're very familiar with. Something that you just need to trust will be acceptable."
His fears and fantasies at once were confirmed. Jackie was gone. She was, and always would be, "Mistress Hyde." Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and it let him see the full force of her outfit. Skintight and curvaceous, her rubber catsuit had a distinctly militaristic look about it. Thigh-high rubber stockings ran down to her feet, and up, disappearing beneath a rubber pencil-skirt. He blushed instantly as his eyes went higher, around her tightly-packed waist. Buttons and seams ran higher up.
He react almost involuntarily. The sight of her rubber-clad body, the darkness of the room, the warmth of the bed - he was aroused beyond belief and instantly ready for action. Miss Hyde was not so lascivious; her movements were careful, slow, and precise. She walked slowly around the bed, giving him time to take in the uniform and elbow-length gloves.
"I know you might not be ready," she said, "And I know that this might not be the 'right' thing." Her glove extended to the top button of his shirt. "I won't claim to be the most generous or respectful or even ethical mistress, but, well..." she sighed. "Never mind."
He grinned. "So?"
"So, it means that I might not be what you want, or even what you need. This could be very unhealthy for you."
Michael shrugged and assisted her, undoing the last button from his shirt and moving to his pants. "People make bad decisions all the time. And a girl as sweet as you, Jackie - you don't seem like a bad decision."
Jackie smiled. "Well, Michael, thank you. You're definitely one of the best things to happen to me in quite some time. Just one thing, though."
Michael smiled. "Anything."
"I am Mistress Hyde."
The coupling was exquisite. Michael began with vigor, teasing out her most sensitive spots. It was certainly a challenge through the thick rubber of her uniform, but he managed to locate hear weaknesses; moving her hands over her teats, he could nibble her neck, his tongue teasing out gentle moans from Mistress Hyde's grinning mouth. She returned the favor with a similar gusto. It wasn't long before she realized his wrists bore a fascinatingly vulnerable erogenous zone. Smooching his wrist was enough to elicit a mewl, and her lips and tongue combined made him visibly squirm. Each moment gave them both more information about the other, with the teasing reaching a fever pitch when Michael began on her inner thigh. She could scarcely contain herself, and, in a choice decidedly uncharacteristic of Mistress Hyde (but perfectly in keeping with the passionate Jackie), she let him take the initiative; removing her skirt and letting him mount her. She had waited so long for his entry, and worked herself into a frenzy as they coupled. Michael's strong hands gripped the shining rubber hips, the material squeaking throughout the room.
Michael drifting into a blissful sleep after his climax, but Miss Hyde had no such intentions. She feigned rest for just a few short minutes before enacting her plans for this contingency.
"Number Seven, Number Twelve, are you there?" She whispered as silently as possible ; she didn't yet know how heavy a sleeper Michael was.
Her two most loyal and athletic attendants emerged, quietly entering the room from their hiding spots in Michael's foyer. They said nothing - not that they were able to , considering the heavy plug-gags they both wore. Not even their eyes were visible; they were utterly silent as they entered the room, with their neoprene suits making the barest of noises. Michael drifted gently in dream as they finally approached - with Number Seven slapping a palm over Michael's mouth at the exact moment that Twelve locked a collar around his neck.
----
By the time Michael awoke, it was far too late. What Mistress Hyde wanted, she obtained - and after their time together she had determined that Michael would be the ideal romantic partner. She hadn't even given him a number. Her plan was to let him move as he saw fit; like the other slaves, he would be free to leave at any time, but she envisioned a dedicated partner who wouldn't even ask permission. It was a dangerous amount of freedom, but Hyde considered it an acceptable risk. Truly, she couldn't see it any other way; as much as she wanted to use him, toy with him, and treat him like one of her paying "clients," she knew she wouldn't be able to subject him to such ignominies.
However, she did plan on subjecting him to the experience had had so frequently fantasized. She watched him via remote video camera; he was beginning to rouse himself to wakefulness. He had been deposited in the Padded Room, so called because of the iconic institutional padded walls. It minimized the chance of self-injury. It was all but necessary with the outfit.
He had been dressed in only the finest of high-tech garments that Hyde could find. His bodily functions were appropriately plumbed, his sensitive zones were all susceptible to stimulation pads, and his body, from nose to toes, was ensconced in black rubber.
Hyde smiled. Finally, he was dressing respectably.
Her latest acquisition had been hauled to her 'manor' in a heavy restraint sack, but such a sack would not be necessary in her domain. He was standing up, legs spread and held apart by a long metal bar, and his torso snugly enclosed in a second layer. The restraint jacket bore little resemblance to the functional trappings of an asylum, but Hyde didn't need realism - she needed restriction! The black leather was sturdy and polished, thick and unforgiving. White straps covered the jacket, keeping him in a self-hug over which he had no ability to remove.
A dozen D-rings rattled as he squirmed left and right. Several long, stretchy cables suspended Hyde's rubber man from the ceiling; he had a degree of movement but falling or walking was impossible. If he moved too far in any direction, the tension would increase. He bobbed, then, up and down, practically floating and nearly held aloft by a the spiderweb of cable.
He was smiling when Mistress Hyde finally entered the room. She was the supreme image of dominance; he, that of a prisoner. She wore heels, a militaristic uniform, and a skirt; he had a goofy grin on his face.
"Hello, Mistress. Am I free to leave?"
She grinned even wider. "Slave, you are not permitted to speak unless spoken to. You are my rubber companion, and when you are given permission to exit, it will be under my control."
He squirmed, letting her hear the loud squeaks of his restraint. She could smell his musk, and his eagerness to have her again.
"Please, Mistress Hyde, you've already kidnapped me. Don't do anything else." His voice was calm, almost mocking; he was going along with it, though he was definitely smiling a bit too much.
"As stated, you are my rubber companion. I will use you as I wish. For starters, I dislike your tone." He opened his mouth willingly, and Hyde ceremoniously treated him to an inflatable gag. She shoved the rubber bladder between his teeth, stretched the straps behind his head, and snapped it shut. He quickly moaned, eyes shut, as she began to pump his mouth full.
She couldn't see his smile, but she could see his shining eyes. She took that confident expression in, drinking it up - after all, she wouldn't be seeing it for quite some time. With the same candor, she slipped a thick hood over his face. His eyes disappeared, his gagged mouth vanished; only the outline of his nose and features was now visible. Michael was quite deliciously anonymous.
"That said, there is one permission I will grant you."
She knelt down, and fumbled with the convenience zipper around his groin.
"Mmmrrrpph?" Michael moaned an interrogative.
"Keep calling me Jackie."
Michael was silent for a moment before emitting a series of orgiastic moans. His partner was once again all smiles and gentle touches.