Kristen smiled as she sliced the nondescript brown box open with a firm hand and sharp scissors. She couldn’t help but reach in hungrily, past the carefully laid packaging, to bring the smooth latex garment folded inside to her face. She breathed in, simultaneously aroused and comforted by the rubber’s unmistakable scent.
Eighteen months in, literally, the pandemic had taken a toll on the young professional, several years graduated from university. Endless Zoom calls, countless FaceTime-facilitated Wine Wednesday dates with friends… Kristen suffered wanderlust and missed the connections and stories she treasured making pre-COVID.
Three things were keeping her sane: a love for Italian cooking, long runs, and a new-found passion for wearing and showing herself off in latex.
This latest garment was a made-to-measure shoulder zip semi-transparent purple catsuit in delicately thin.25mm gauge. With three hours until her next Zoom meeting, Kristen couldn’t help but try it on.
Stripping down, she took a moment to appreciate her long, shapely body. Mentally, she might never completely shake the memory of being a lanky young girl, teased for being a string bean with knees. But today, thanks to blessed genetics and her teenage discovery of track and field, all five feet ten inches of her was strong and toned.
“Look at you, Gorgeous,” she thought, working the freshly lubed catsuit up over her calves, admiring how they transformed her whitish pink skin to something bright, shiny and otherworldly.
She excitedly worked the catsuit up and on quickly, finishing the look with wrist length black latex gloves, a black hood and flirty heels.
After liberally wetting her latex-clad body with shine-enhancing lube, Kristen turned on a web-connected camera and sent a link out to several hundred followers, “Happy midday, my fellow latex sluts, couldn’t help but slide into something special, cum take a look 😊….”
Within moments, the virtual room she maintained was pinging with compliments,
“Oh my, Goddess, your best look yet,”
“Making me so hard here in Sacramento,”
“Divine,”
“Perfection.”
While the comments poured in, Kristen indulged her growing audience with increasingly flirtatious poses.
Thirty minutes in, she was sitting back in a comfortable chair, legs spread wide, crotch zip open, alternatively rubbing her womanhood and licking and sucking the resulting juices from her gloved fingers.
“Rubbing right along with you,”
“Wishing I could give you a hand,”
“The taste of the Gods.”
Gods, God… Jesus. “Oh God…” Kristen squealed in delight as she hit just the right spot on her now-enlarged clit.
A product of a liberal but ever-present Catholic upbringing, Kristen understood her behavior would shock the nuns that had raised and educated her as deviant. That they would send her off to a priest for confession and to get right with God.
“Oh God, oh God oh God ohhhh,” Kristen lingered on that spot again, sending her audience into a frenzy.
“Cumming here,”
“You sound like an angel singing,”
“Take it home, Goddess, you deserve it.”
Home. While Kristen’s hands moved from her pussy up to play with and tweak her supple breasts and hard tits, she thought about how her childhood bedroom had transformed over the years. From pink, frilly and stuffed with American Girl dolls, to a more somber grunge phase, to finally, up through college, a contemplative space filled with black and white photos of Paris and empowering quotes from famous women.
Kristen decided to give her audience a special treat.
Dripping wet, she slid easily down onto the rubber phallus affixed to the wood floor of her apartment, enjoying how it filled her up and sent thousands of nerve endings into overdrive.
Kristen looked herself in the eye through the monitor, enjoying a near out-of-body experience watching herself thrust against and fuck the toy.
“Best. Day. Ever.”
“That lucky cock,”
“Wish I was filling you up like that,”
“Ride it, gorgeous.”
The implicit command within that last comment gave Kristen pause. She eased off the rubber cock, leaned back onto her knees, and looked down to admire the pool of pussy juice and sweat that had formed at the base of the toy.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she cooed back at the screen, dipping her fingers into and playing with the fluids slickening her floor.
She felt alive, electric. With her body hot and time in the suit clocking over two hours, the latex clung to her like a true second skin. She felt protected and in control. A sexual super hero.
Enjoying this interlude, Kristen thought back to the genesis of her latex exhibitionism. While mere months ago, it felt like remembering an old friend.
She had been out for one of her long runs, upwards of 11 miles, on a cool Sunday morning. Even dressed conservatively in Lululemon leggings, a modest tank top and ballcap, she had been the subject of countless stares, whistles, and come-ons. Unsolicited, all. Beyond being tired of it, Kristen desired to control it.
Unable to do so in the natural world, she created her own within her apartment. At first latex was a means to an end so that she could project some level of agency over her body by never being fully nude and protect her identity. But it only took donning one garment for Kristen to realize her fetish for it; the tactile smoothness, visual shine, unique scent… it transformed her.
“Soooo sexyyy,”
“Could linger on this view all day,”
“A vision.”
Kristen re-focused on the stream of comments. Hot, horny and ready to cum, she crawled over to the camera.
“You all have been great, but I am going to take it from here,” she said, blowing the screen a kiss with one hand and ending the web feed with another.