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Madame Lesanne Benchcroft sipped her tea
"I summoned you here because my lovely niece Suzanne is extremely interested in your novels about damsels in distress," she said. "You seem to have an evil sense of the most wicked tortures a submissive young maiden might endure."
I nodded graciously and leaned forward to sip my tea, maneuvering the best I could in my long white leather hobble skirt.
"I presumed the novels were all autobiographical?" she said. "The heroine, Rhonda the Recalcitrant Rubber Recruit, is really you? These are your fantasies!"
I wore a prim smile. But I said nothing. I brushed a cake crumb off my long-sleeved white silk blouse and waited for my hostess to continue.
"When I saw the authors name -- Peggy Ann Prisslips -- my heart sank," Madame Benchcroft said. "I knew Suzanne had fallen in love with the stories, and with the writer. "I thought to myself: My niece has fallen for a lesbian."
Madame Benchcroft pursed her lips, but then gave out a slight smile.
"Thank goodness, Ive learned your little secret, right Ms. Prisslips?"
I was getting nervous. I tried to cross my legs, but my Victorian-style crème leather boots got caught up in the hem of my hobble skirt. So I merely squirmed a little and fluttered my long black lashes.
"You understand that I cannot have my virginal young niece -- the queen of her finishing school class and a high-fashion latex clothing model in her college days succumb to the seductions of another woman. My niece will only share her life with a slave she can dominate and torment, and who, in turn, can humiliate her in the most loving way. And that can only be a man, do you understand, Ms. Prisslips."
I nodded affirmatively. I had seen Suzanne so many times at the local nightspots. I swooned at her charms, and spooned her from a distance. She was a goddess in my eyes. Yet I never had the courage to walk up to her and talk. So, yes, I nodded now. Affirmatively. Vigorously.
Madame Benchcroft sighed. She stared at my long auburn tresses and soft rosy cheeks.
"You do not know this, Ms. Prisslips, but I am very familiar with your publisher, BeeAndDee Books. In fact, I am a minority owner. I hold about 15 percent of the stock. So I rang them up and made some discreet inquiries about you."
I closed my eyes. I knew what was coming.
"You are a brilliant author, Ms. Prisslips, but you real name is Jean Paul Pouffyfrills, isnt it. You are also a obsessive crossdresser, fetishist, and masochist, arent you?"
I sat stiffly in my chair. I had no sense of what to say.
"No response?" Madame Benchcroft sighed. "All those novels, all those wicked words, and now, when it is time to confront the truth, you are speechless. What shame! I have handpicked you for my niece, you little wimp! You are the same age. You visit the same clubs and know the same people. And, from the bulge I saw popping through your hobble dress when I mentioned my niece, you have the same sexual needs and urges. Am I wrong?"
I closed my eyes again.
"I am offering you a chance one chance to turn your fantasies into reality, Mr. Pouffyfrills! If I am wrong, if you do not want to play this little game, please leave. Nothing more will be said. Your secret is safe. Your writings will continue to give my niece a modicum of satisfaction.
"But if you are ready to become a living, breathing, rubberized Rhonda, to share life and all of its displeasures with my niece, the lovely Submissive Slut Suzanne, hold out your gloved hands NOW! -- and led me lead you into a most wonderful nether world."
I stared as my matronly stern yet elegantly charming hostess. I was not prepared for this. Could I surrender now? I thought about leaving. Quickly. Without comment. But then it hit me: my whole life had been a fantasy. Wasnt it time for a little reality? The truth was this: I was not prepared to walk away from this moment. I would hate myself.
"If you are not your heroine, Rhonda, you should leave," Madame Benchcroft said, pushing for a response. "But if you stay, I will take you into the ante room and prepare you for the arrival of my niece. If you are what I think, and you are truly ready to be the slave of your dreams, Im telling you for a final time to hold out your hands."
I closed my eyes one final time and took a deep, long breath.
Then I held out my gloved hand limply.
It was my confession and my submission.
Madame Benchcroft rose and pulled me out of my chair.
"I thought so," she said, kissing me on my painted lips. "You and Suzanne going to make a great pair of bondage sluts."
Madame Benchcroft turned me toward the anteroom and wasted no time in ordering me to strip.
Two minutes later, I was adorned in nothing but the birthday suit of one Jean Paul Pouffyfrills. Madame never again called me by my male name. I was Ms. Prisslips out of costume; otherwise, I was Rhonda the Recalcitrant Rubber Recruit.
Madame Benchcroft took my manliness in her hand to study it.
"My late rubber sissy husband should have been so blessed," she said.
Then she dropped my balls and the subject.
She handed me a clear pair of pink ruffled rubber panties .
"Wear these," she said.
I pulled the panties slowly up my legs and over my stiffening member. Then she handed me a short, pink-rubber dress. I pulled it over my head, but it fell only to the very tops of my panties. Madame Benchcroft then attached a 2 1/2 inch pink leather collar about my neck, along with matching wrist, ankle and knee restraints. Next came a pink rubber cap that hid all my hair and made me look bald. Then she fitted a pink gag with a screw-in, three-inch, inflatable plug. She pushed it into my mouth, secured it, and pumped it up. I was mum. I was muzzled.
She topped it all off with a white plastic bonnet and ruffled white apron. She padlocked my wrists together behind me and locked my knee restraints together.
Between us, dear reader, I was ready to submit to Madame Benchcroft right there. I could not miss the smell of her perfume as she had fitted my with my fetters. I heard her girdle shift as she reached around me. I thought I heard petticoats rustle beneath her blue silk Edwardian dress. I was dizzy with delight.
"Comfy?" she asked.
"M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m," I purred.
"Good. Now return to your chair and we will await my niece."
I hobbled slowly back to my chair, breathing deeply through my nose as I waddled.
She watched from behind.
"You make an excellent little girl slave," she said. "Too bad you're my niece's plaything."
I nodded and batted my eyelashes.
"Sit, flirt!" she scolded. "We are monogamous in this household. Understand, Rhonda!"
I nodded affirmatively. Still, inside, I was ready to submit to this lady.
"Keep your head down, Rhonda, and your eyes lowered," she said. "Let us wait for Suzanne."
Ten minutes later, a young maiden in a raincoat came in from the drizzle outside, followed by a figure completely shrouded in a shiny wet black cape. The figure in the cape was Suzanne.
Suzanne's cape lacked the usual hand slits, and she was wearing some sort of total head bonnet. She blinked at me from behind her mask.
"Submissive Slut Suzanne is in punishment today, Rhonda," Lady B. said. "Our contract allows me complete control of her. Obviously, she needs discipline."
I looked at Suzanne's eyes and saw a look of urgency, as if she couldn't wait to explain herself. But clearly she was fettered and gagged. As she looked at my costume, her eyes dancing from my plastic panties to my gag to my restraints. She moaned.
"We may have moments when the two of you can talk," Lady B said, "but unless Suzanne's disposition improves, you will both be mum."
Lady B reached for a remote control device on the coffee table next to her and pointed it at Suzanne. A humming noise came from within Suzanne's bound form. She began to shake against her bonds, writhing from side to side, up and down, as if she was being given a mild shock -- somewhere. But where?
"A mild form of aversion therapy," is all Lady B said.
The maiden began unwrapping Suzanne. Underneath the cape was another black rubberized garment, and I saw why Suzanne was not able to help herself. The black rubber garment enclosed her completely, like a sack. It wrapped tightly around her from her ankles to her neck, with her arms drawn behind her in a pinion and secured with a four-inch black rubber strap. A thin rubber hood concealed her head.
Suzanne stood silently as the maiden undid her fastenings. At last the sack came apart, her arms popped free from the inner sleeves. As the zipper was undone to her feet, she stepped backwards and out of the sack.
The maiden removed her mask. Suzanne took a deep breath through full red lips, then tossed back her long brunette hair. She was lovely. She was dressed in a high-neck, short red rubber minidress that revealed white ruffled rubber panties. Her slim legs were laced into thigh-high boots.
The maid parted Suzanne's lips to reveal a gag that appeared to be wedged into her teeth and over her tongue by a dainty crank. The maiden worked the crank, but instead of loosening it, she made Suzanne's face longer by cranking it up. Soon, Suzanne was unable to put her lips together, and her eyes glared as the maid fit her arms into glove-like bondage mittens. Suzanne cried behind her gag.
"I don't like the look I'm getting," Lady B said. "Maid Mindy, blindfold her."
Then, turning to me, Lady B., "Suzanne has had her first glimpse of her slave. I'm sure she is fantasizing about taking you out to visit her friends."
I moaned and twisted about, ignoring Lady B.'s directive to sit still.
"Shame on you," Lady B. said. "I'll shall have to teach you not to disobey me."
She pulled a clear plastic bag about half the size of a regular pillowcase out of a drawer. The bag had a drawstring around one end.
She pulled the bag over my head and knotted the drawstring around my neck so that a small amount of fresh air could be drawn in with each breath. Still, my nose and my gag were snug against the plastic itself. I could see around me, but images were foggy.
She reached into the drawer again and pulled out a much larger bag. She slipped the bag under my bound legs and ordered me to stand. She rolled the bag up my body until it reached my neck, where again she knotted the drawstring. The bag was tight enough that I felt like a sausage. I could not sit back down. She clapped her hands and two maids entered the room.
"Dispose of her," Lady B. said.
I was retired to my room, strapped to my bed by my collar and my ankles, still wearing my polka-dotted panty outfit, still gagged. A television set was affixed over my bed, and the monitor began showing illustrated scenes from Rhonda books. I could make out the images even though my plastic head bag was foggy and crinkled as I exhaled and inhaled, my body sweating in its own bag.
My books didn't have drawings, and the words in my books hardly drew the mental images as crisply or severely as they were depicted in these illustrations. The drawings showed rubberized victims being shamed into submission, often by being bound, gagged, blindfolded and secured to a variety of apparatus. The straps were so tight that where the victims weren't strapped, their body parts bulged out. The eyes showed the horror of their confinement.
My curiosity was piqued. Where did these drawings come from? I saw a signature.
The drawings were signed S....S....S.
Submissive Slut Suzanne, I wondered?
Were these her fantasies?
As the pages turned, I saw more drawings rubberized women chained or bound with rope and gagged. Some were tethered into straight jackets. Others were bound in head-to-toe rubber sheets.
And then, suddenly, the video stopped.
Suzanne herself was hovering above me, as elegant as before, but enveloped in a slim floor-length nightgown of white rubber. The gown had a high neck, but the breast area was cut out, and a red bra poked through. Her sleeves were attached to the sides of her gown, ending in mittens. Her head was encased in a black hood. She evidently was still gagged.
A maid accompanied her.
The maid pulled down a metal bar about 14'' wide. Nipple clamps dangled from the rod's ends by about 6'' of wire rope. She adjusted the pulleys, reached for one of the clamps and began to open and close it.
I tried begging the maid to stop. But she ran her hand across one of my nipples, smoothing out the rubber and tweaking the nipple area so that she could firmly attach the clamp. She did.
I squirmed and moaned. Suzanne seemed to laugh behind her bonds. The maid repeated the process with the other nipple. Again, I moaned. The maid used the pulleys to raise the bar, adjusting it so that both sides rose at once, until I thought my nipples were going to be pulled from my body.
"Such a slut," the maid said.
The clamps were killing me. But the maid pulled the pulleys higher, forcing my body to arch upward as much as it could.
"This will make sure you don't sleep through your first night of punishment," the maid said.
I sucked hard on my gag, trying to breath through my plastic head bag, trying not to think about my breasts being pulled grossly upwards.
The maid released the knot in the head bag, only to re-tighten it more securely. She took her rubber gloved hand and rubbed it over the front of my face, forcing the plastic even tighter against my face to the point that even less fresh air was reaching my nostrils.
She pinched my nose shut. I could not breath. She let go and I struggled for air.
"She must really love humiliation," the maid said to Suzanne. "I guess she hasn't had enough?"
I squealed behind my gag, trying to implore the maid to stop. My nipples ached. I could barely breath. But the maid just laughed.
"What is your command, mistress?" she asked Suzanne. "Shall I go on?"
The maid reached under my bed and pulled a blindfold out, strapping it over my eyes. She reached across the bed and pulled out a strap that buckled over my forehead and, cinching down at the sides, pulled my head deep against the plastic mattress. That eliminated the small pocket of air left in the bag. The plastic now clung everywhere to my face. I could get fresh air only in one nostril. Was that enough?
I heard the two of them leave my side. I drifted off into a daze, my body still arched, my nipples still stretched by the bar above my bed.
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