‘Go to the mirror. See how you look.’ She opened her eyes, turned and noticed at once how constricting the dress was when it came to movement. She looked at her reflection in the full-length glass and gasped. The strong plastic was very tight round her curves. The gloss of the dress was spectacularly stunning. She looked agog at herself as her hands passed down over the breasts, stomach, hips and thighs of the dazzling figure in the mirror and her eyes fixed on the zip across each breast.
‘Turn round,’ he said.
She was shocked when she saw the back of the dress. Her exposed buttocks were on full view. From the front she was tightly covered in glossy black PVC. From the back, she was bare-shouldered and bare-bottomed and, to her unease, very vulnerable to any blows that might land on her. And yet...this spectacle of herself appealed dreadfully. She had a sudden urge to be dealt with very thoroughly.
‘Knew you'd like it!’ he said jauntily, and a self-satisfied smile lit up his face.
She turned round again to take in her front view but her fascination with herself was interrupted as he came up behind her.
‘Some accessories to complement your new dress,’ and before she had time to ask, he had pulled her arms behind her back and was slipping a looped strap round her elbows, tugging it in tight enough to pull her shoulders right back and force her chest out.
‘Michael!’ she began, alarmed. It was buckled up at once and he was already fastening a thick leather cuff round each of her wrists.
‘Michael! Please!’ but he ignored her. He was busy pushing her wrists in front of her, where the cuffs were clipped together by a silver chain. She was suddenly fixed rigid, her arms held taut behind, her wrists secured in front.
‘Michael, I don't think...’
‘Shut up!’ he snapped, and at once stuffed a headscarf into her mouth and quickly gagged her up tight with the other scarf tied round her lower face.
She panicked and her heart raced. Oh God, she thought, this isn't fun. He spun her round to face him and she saw the flash of excitement in his eyes before casting her own down. I don't know though... and she gave a demonstrative struggle in her cruel bonds and glanced back at his face. The excitement was real and as she cried ‘Umph!’ more loudly into the gag, she knew this was her chance to really provoke him this time.
‘Shut up, you little tart! You'll be making enough noise later!’ and he slapped her backside. She whimpered playfully, even though it smarted.
He stared calmly into her eyes then undid slowly the zip over each breast. The sound of the zips being undone was exquisite. The Master was excelling himself. Unzipped, her nipples were on full view but then, moaning with growing pleasure, her legs went weak as he gently eased out each orb so that they both stuck out brazenly from the tight dress. Her shoulders pulled right back, she felt horribly exposed and struggled helplessly as he fondled them and pinched her nipples till she squirmed. He slapped her breasts lightly as his face lit up in deep satisfaction of what he had just done with her.
‘Good.’ His face changed. ‘Now walk round the room.’
She moved off but found at once that the hobbling strap round her knees made her gait awkward. At the same moment came the discovery that her exposed behind seemed very pronounced as it was forced to wobble in an exaggerated manner.
Oh my God! An intense thrill shot straight through her as she groaned louder into the gag as, with each step, the rhythmic stretching of the dress over her front and thighs only heightened her senses the more. Her breasts seemed enormous as they jutted out in front of her and the strictures of the straps only intensified the sensations now taking total control of her. Strict discipline. The thought suddenly came to her. So this is what it’s like …
As she walked on, she suddenly felt peculiarly complete as if rounded off like some work of art. Il maestro, she thought. The master sculptor again! She then caught sight of herself in the mirror and was jolted by the pornographic spectacle before her. A startling image both shocked and electrified her at the same time. Complete and utter sex object! He had turned her into the embodiment of pure sex. Yet she knew at once, that as he feasted his eyes on his own stunning creation, she was sex-empowered and the knowledge bound him to her as the tight straps now bound her on her journey through the room.
‘Faster!’ he said. ‘Go faster!’
She tried to walk more quickly but was restrained by the straps from doing so.
‘I said, faster!’
It was no use, she was going as fast as she could and she was now getting quite warm inside the tight PVC.
‘Come on, get a move on!’
She tried to protest but could only utter a muffled cry.
‘Move your arse!’ and, with that, he leapt forward, pushed her in the back and slapped her exposed bottom. She let out a stifled squeal as she staggered forward in her heels and felt an electric surge. He was heightening the tempo and, despite the restrictive straps, she perversely wanted them even tighter. ‘You filthy whore! Come on - faster!’
She thought she would crash to the floor in her heels. She was bursting out of the dress as it squeezed her ever tighter and she moaned more loudly. He was going over to a cupboard and, glancing back over her shoulder, she saw him produce a riding crop.
Oh God, I knew it! she thought, and she involuntarily stopped on the spot.
‘Did I say you could stop?’ he said haughtily. ‘Gee-up!’ and with that, he brought the crop down on her bare buttocks.
Whack!
She winced.
‘Umph!’ came a stifled scream.
‘Now move it!’
She was stung in more ways than one. He struck her again, not too hard but enough to make her squeal, but he only laughed.
‘Go on! Move!’ he barked.
She quickened her pace in spite of the restraints but still he was not satisfied and another blow landed. She careered round the room frantically struggling, moaning frenziedly, driven on and on, relentlessly, as several further blows and invective rained down on her till she was delirious, lashed up in PVC, lashed on by the crop. She climaxed. Incapable of moving further, she climaxed on the spot as wave upon wave of contractions racked her cunt and billowed up through her hips and seized her brain. He whacked her and whacked her, exhorting her to move but it only intensified her state and she could do nothing but surrender to the violent spasms that now surged through her. He stopped the beating.
‘Why, you dirty little tart!’ and he slapped her thigh. ‘You love it, don't you?’ he demanded.
She mewed under the gag and he got his answer.
‘Next time, it's a bridle for you,’ and he slung the crop on the floor.
Her mind was blown as the last spasm faded and it was left to her body to spell it out for her. She craved this kind of sex. God, how I love it! Bondage, tight plastic, crop, cock...she loved the lot. Slave to sex. Just what she had hoped. He was getting to know her for her true self and an involuntary moan came from deep within.
Then, all at once, he was grabbing her arm, and spinning her round, he dragged her over to the enormous bed. She screamed as he threw her on to it. Not for the first time was she savouring the delight of bouncing hard in bondage on that lovely, springy bed.
Oh, do it to me again, please! begged the voice within, like a little girl going round again for the umpteenth time on the helter-skelter. You can throw me around for hours! and she felt her naked breasts pressed hard into the smooth bedcover and the tightness of the dress round her belly and thighs, and her tingling backside exposed to the cool air.
He was getting his clothes off. She watched him, with his back to her, take his shirt off to reveal a handsome straight back, broad-shouldered, lean waist, that made her think somehow of a leopard. His trousers dropped to the floor and, kicking them away, she traced with her eyes firm buttocks nestling in black underpants, strong muscular thighs, and superb athletic calves that trailed away to sleek ankles. A sculpted frame, coiled and lean, ready to spring, like a jungle cat. She h
ad stopped struggling on the bed and was suddenly aware of this when he turned round naked, and looked at her.
God! She moaned into her gag. He was yet more handsome than ever. She was riveted by his superb shoulders and, as he moved, the flexure in his sleek midriff drew her gaze to his dark crotch where his cock and balls preceded their master as he advanced on her. He was already stiffening and she instinctively wiggled her bum and groaned loudly through her gag.
‘Shut up!’ he commanded and sprang onto the bed, giving her a slap across her bottom. ‘Methinks you need a better gag!’ and she moaned and struggled violently. Fuck me! Oh fuck me hard! she begged as the dress seemed to tighten round her and her arse cried out for another smack. He pulled her roughly over onto her back and fondled and slapped her breasts lightly. She watched his smile broaden as her nipples began to stiffen up and she writhed in pleasure as he sucked and kissed them, pinching and kneading them, as she begged to be felt all over, smacked and fucked, and ...
‘You dirty little girl!’
He pushed her over on to her front and a torrent of smacks assailed her buttocks and all that she could do, was utter a long continuous moan and struggle in vain, her legs pinned down under the weight of his straddling frame. She was now very hot and wet with the struggling and inwardly begged him to take her like the whore she was. Suddenly, he roughly thrust his hand between her closed legs and felt her intimately. She was sopping wet and responded with a desperate moan to the feel of his exploratory fingers. He withdrew his hand at once.
‘Why, you filthy whore! You belong in a cesspit!’ and wiped his fingers on her bare bottom. She moaned more loudly and increased her struggling.
‘Shut up!’ he snapped, ‘Or I'll whip you!’
She froze momentarily then struggled violently, squealing through the gag as loud as she could, and, as he got up off her, she kicked the inside of his shin with her heel. By the sound he made, she knew she had hurt him, and braced herself.
‘So that's how you want to play it! That hurt, and so does this!’, and with that he got off the bed and went over to the cupboard.
She rocked over on to her side and watched him get out a monstrous strap. It was perhaps two feet long, several inches wide and peppered, on one side, with metal studs.
Oh my God! Her eyes widened in terror. Surely he didn't intend to use that on her! She struggled, attempting to get up, but Michael at once pushed her back on to her front.
‘This, my dear, is The Persuader.’
He brushed it against her buttocks. She felt the touch of the smooth, cool leather on her skin. He then turned the strap over and she could feel the cold studs against her hot flesh. She shuddered and grew still, paralysed with fear.
‘That's better,’ he said, moving the strap back and forth over her skin like a saw, ‘Much better.’
She mewed with unintelligible cries of ‘Please don't! Oh please!’
He laughed.
‘I'm going to let you off lightly this time.’
She closed her eyes with genuine relief. Then ‘Oomph!’ as she winced violently when an unexpected blow seared her buttocks.
‘A good thrashing with the crop is all you're going to get!’
She cried out as a second blow landed, more jolting than painful, then another as he beat her with the riding crop, counting out aloud ‘… three! … four! …’
She writhed desperately as the blows mounted and felt the bondage dress and straps restraining her mercilessly for this pitiless crop.
‘… five! … six! …’
The more she strained against her bonds however, the more the punishment gave way to a deep pleasure, and the more frenziedly she struggled.
‘… seven! … eight! You're like a bitch on heat!’ he said. ‘You filthy slut!’ and cast away the crop. He was undoing the strap below her buttocks.
She squealed with anticipation and her excitement mounted as she felt him undoing the strap which had hobbled her knees. She lay still, expectant and moaning softly into her gag. She heard him open the drawer of the bedside cabinet and a sound, like tearing of some wrapper. She could hardly wait. She moaned louder, wriggling her bum, and her legs, now freed, slid against one another lasciviously.
‘Stick your arse out!’
Then, she felt him place his hands either side of her waist and unbuckle the strap round her knees. She at once parted her legs as far as she could in the dress. He entered her in one swift movement, hard up against her clitoris, and she groaned in a wave of deep, full-bodied pleasure. She moaned continuously as the monster rubbed her up so thoroughly that she craved for it not to stop, begged for this other master to be equally pitiless and cruel in his taking of her, as the man above her that now pressed her down into the mattress and pumped her hard.
She tried to struggle, but the dress and straps bound her rigid and his heavy body weighed down on her. She moaned in a pleasure she had never known before. Up and down, long and hard, she groaned deeper, almost as if in pain, desperate for more, harder, longer, faster, yet slower, never to stop. Oh God! I love it! I love it! She was already jerking furiously with her hips, trying to pump harder and faster herself. She wanted tighter bondage, a tighter gag, and groaned louder. Harder! …Need harder! ... Pump harder! Need faster! Faster! … Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!… when a long, awful scream came from deep within her as she pumped violently and, at last, the climax grabbed her cunt, belly and arse, and obliterated her mind with a deluge of sensations that ravished her, body and soul, with unbearable paroxysms of pleasure and rapture. She cried out and screamed a long, dreadful yearning into the gag. The cries grew more muffled as she collapsed completely into the mattress, thrashing desperately and then more feebly, to milk the orgasm for every drop of pleasure it could bring her. As the spasms subsided and she became aware of her soft moaning, she suddenly felt Michael very heavy on top of her.
He too had stopped, and was breathing heavily. She could feel him going soft in her and realized he too had climaxed, at the same time as her. Rational thought was returning and she now recalled all that had happened.
This was the best fuck she had ever had in her life. The best ever foreplay a man had given her and she was slightly shocked to think this. She loved her dress. God! Did he know how to turn a woman on!
‘You OK?’ came a slightly distant voice, still not quite with it, and he gently slid off her.
Ok? Rather an understatement! she thought.
‘Mmph! Mmph!’ she pointedly mewed, mock-struggling in her bonds.
‘Sorry!’ and he at once untied and removed the gag. To her surprise, she was suddenly disappointed and it flashed through her mind that sexual corruption could be addictive. Like orgasms.
He was unbuckling the strap around her elbows and then quickly moved her on to her back and unclipped the chain from the cuffs and these too were removed. She was still floating gently on the orgasm's afterglow and on the sense of repose that had followed in its wake. He was putting the straps and implements in the cupboard and she suddenly wished he would stay a while on the bed and hold her gently and enjoy this exquisite, still moment. He caught her eye and stopped and then, hesitantly, got back on the bed.
He lied down on his back next to her, she on her side facing him. He looked good naked. His skin was tanned, his features very relaxed. A complete contrast to his formal shirt and trousers image and the slightly stern look he always seemed to go around with. She studied his face and he looked back at her with those dark, liquid eyes that she could easily drown in. He smiled and cleared his throat.
‘So what do you think of the dress, then?’ he asked.
She smiled and, looking down at herself, she felt the tight plastic round her thighs.
‘Well, every girl should have at least one little black number in her wardrobe,’ and they both laughed. His face lit up when he laughed and she was beginning to see another side to this man now he was lying next to her.
‘I had it made especially for you.’
‘That must
have cost something,’ she said, flattered, yet not sure whether being turned into a sex object was what she really appreciated, and certainly not right now.
‘It's perfect on you and you look spectacular in it,’ he said, ‘I'd love to dress you many ways.’
‘I'm sure,’ she said, running her hand down her tight-wrapped figure once more.
‘Plastic, of course.’
‘Of course,’ and she purred slightly knowing that no-one before had ever awakened such sensual feelings in her as he had. She was already accepting his fetish as something natural and normal between them, even though she still associated plastic raincoats with her early schooldays long ago, or with those frumpy-looking women at rained-out craft fairs, or with librarians like Doreen whom she used to know in Acquisitions with that plastic sandwich box she always had, and that tatty plastic carrier bag she went around with, and that blue plastic mac she always seemed to wear, come rain, shine, snow or whatever it was like. Plastic Doreen, she mused, subject cataloguing all those thousands of books, she must have spent quite a bit of time in Plastics, and she chuckled to herself.
‘What's the matter?’ he asked, looking slightly bemused.
‘Oh,’ and she paused, ‘I was just thinking of a woman I once knew who wore a mac a lot,’ and then added quickly, ‘You wouldn't have liked her. From another planet. Weird. Definitely weird.’
‘So you think it's weird for a woman to wear plastic rainwear?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no!’ Back-peddling frantically, she added, ‘It’s fine for the rain. Perfect in heavy rain, in fact,’ but she could see he looked uncomfortable as she was amusing herself at his expense and was suddenly sorry. She backed off immediately and a long silence ensued. She gazed down at her gorgeous, shiny figure and felt the smooth contours that he, Michael, in his creativity, had given her full reason to appreciate.
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