The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 1
February 12th
Dear Diary,
It's been a long time since I've written anything in your pages, but I feel like
I have to talk about this, and you're the only one I can tell. I have a feeling
this will be a very long entry.
I have only myself to blame, I suppose. Jurgen told me not to touch anything,
and even if he hadn't, common sense should have told me not to meddle with
things I don't understand. Or for that matter, things that even Jurgen doesn't
fully understand. Now I'm in a real fix. It's funny though. Now that I've
gotten used to it, I'm not even sure I want out of this "fix". But I'm probably
not making much sense. Let me start over at the beginning.
A little less than six months ago, Jurgen told me he had made a breakthrough at
the lab. I went out with him on the weekend, and he showed me what he'd been
working on. It had something to do with altering the molecular structure of
materials with directed energy instead of chemistry. I understood the intention,
but not the principles behind the equipment. I mean, I'm fairly smart, I have a
masters degree in anthropology, but I know when I'm out of my depth.
As Jurgen explained it, the machine bathed the test item in low level microwaves
while scanning a low powered x-ray laser across it at high speed. They had
discovered all sorts of bizarre effects on various materials, using various
frequencies of microwaves, but the effects were unpredictable, and they hadn't
figured out how to control them yet. I was impressed though, and I told him so.
We left later, went off to the art museum, I think. If only I had known then
how his work would affect my life!
The next part of the story came just last week. I had been in the kitchen
making myself a little snack. There was no point making dinner, since Jurgen
wouldn't be home until late. He was obsessively pursuing some new development
at the lab, and I knew he would probably ruin his appetite with junk food out of
the vending machines.
The doorbell rang, and with a suddenly racing heart, I KNEW what it had to be.
When I saw the heavy-looking parcel in the arms of the delivery man, my hopes
were answered.
I have written here many times about the joy Jurgen and I get from our bondage
games and fetishes. But I've never written down the details before. Why am I
embarrassed? It's not as if anyone will ever read these words. Okay... a
couple we know runs a company that specializes in elaborate and beautifully made
restrictive rubber and leather clothing, and Jurgen had ordered a custom made
latex bondage suit from them. Somehow, without even looking at the shipping
label, I knew it was finally here!
I signed for the parcel, and practically ran into the kitchen with it. With
trembling hands, I tore open the carton. We had ordered the suit over two
months ago, and I had been day-dreaming about it nearly every day since. I
dumped the contents onto the table, rustling folds of purple rubber spilling out
in a heap. As the familiar aroma of latex filled the room, I marvelled at the
almost overpowering effect it had on me. After years of playing all manner of
fetish and bondage games with Jurgen, I have come to associate that smell with
sexual pleasure, such that now the odor alone arouses me.
I laid it out on the table, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into it.
It was a full body suit of heavy gauge latex in a deep purple. There was no
zipper, since the suit was made for neck entry only. One of our favorite games
was to dump lubricant inside a water-tight catsuit so that it would slip and
slide around my body as I moved. A zipper would have allowed leaks, making a
mess.
The attached boots had six inch heels, and while they weren't exactly ballet
toes, they were half an inch higher than any other heels I owned. Walking in
them would be challenging, but not impossible. I'm going into a lot of detail,
aren't I? Well, despite what has happened, I still love the suit, and it has
given me such pleasure, that I think a certain fetishistic lingering over the
intimate details of the outfit are called for.
Jurgen had had a devilish idea for the bust. There were fitted breast cups of
course, but they were made from thinner latex, and sat over slightly smaller
holes in the chest of the suit. The outer cups had little bumps inside, to rub
against my nipples. My breasts would be squeezed through the holes in the heavy
rubber of the suit, holding them out and up, and they would bulge out like two
round melons, stretching the cups, the tight fit and little bumps making me
acutely aware of my nipples at all times.
There were gloves molded onto the sleeves, and quite a few heavy "D" rings
attached with reinforcing straps at strategic places. The crotch area was
fitted with some very nice accessories as well, but my favorite feature was the
corset section.
Made with two layers of rubber laminated with canvas and closely spaced steel
boning, it was an integral part of the suit. There was no busk of course, and
the back laces were attached to reinforced flaps on the outside, with another
flap that could be closed and locked over them, securing the suit on the wearer.
I remember insisting that Jurgen size it the same as my smallest dress corset.
He had suggested a more relaxed fit, since he planned to lock me into it for a
weekend, but had given in after I described in lurid detail how sexy I would
look wearing it. I recall that our love making the night we mailed the order
was especially intense.
We had ordered a custom helmet with it, but it was not attached, since my
husband wanted to be able to use different hoods with the suit, or even take me
out on the town wearing the outfit under my street clothes. The hood was made
with a wide stiffened flange that would make it secure once the neck of the suit
had closed over it. The eyes were covered with smoked acrylic lenses, so I
would be able to see, but dimly. The mouth was open, but could be closed with
any one of several plugs, gags, and so on, all of which snapped into a ridge
surrounding the opening.
I thought of how much the new suit would would excite him, and was immediately
struck by a mischievous idea. He had to work late at the lab, but nothing
stopped me from paying him a visit. I was pleased that his work had been making
so much progress, but we had had less time together as a result, and it had been
weeks since we had done anything more than plain vanilla sex. I knew he
wouldn't leave work until he was exhausted, but I was sure he wouldn't mind a
brief distraction if I stopped by wearing this! And if I waited until later
that night, the place would be deserted. They only had a handful of employees
anyway, and generally, my little genius was the the only one willing to work
late.
Once my mind was made up, I sprang into action, as they say in the cheap
adventure novels. I carried the heavy suit up to our play room, then took a
long hot shower, paying a little extra attention to my piercings, since they
would be abused somewhat by the tight suit as well as being steeped in sweat for
several hours.
I dried off as fast as I could- I was eager to feel the new outfit enclosing me
in it's intimate embrace. At least I didn't have to dry my hair. I'm not sure
whether I've mentioned this before... I have been completely depilated for
nearly as long as we have been married, so it didn't take long for me to get
dry. It's fortunate that Jurgen is well paid for his work. I had told him very
early on that while I was willing to give up my hair for him, I refused to shave
from head to toe every day. The electrolysis of my head, armpits, and other
areas had taken over a year and had cost a fortune!
I grabbed the silicone lubricant from the bedroom and headed for the play room.
Silicone is the best thing we have found for lubricating rubber, since it didn't
dry out or pool in the feet. I knew I'd need it, since the suit had been
designed for a very tight fit.
Before I started, I debated briefly about what to put in the crotch. The suit
had two large holes there, with thick molded collars. They could be left open,
or any of a host of custom accessories could be snapped into place, making a
watertight seal. A moments reflection told me that Jurgen wouldn't be likely to
want to make love right there in the lab. I opted for a pair of thin sheaths,
into which I pressed two of my most prized toys: a pair of large soft rubber
phalluses, each of which has a steel capsule inside, partly filled with mercury.
I didn't want to use vibrators because while they might be exciting at first,
I'd be numb after an hour or so. These plugs on the other hand, would wiggle
and vibrate only when I moved.
After installing the sleeves and the plugs inside the suit, I slathered the
thick, oily silicone all over the inside, and then spread a thin film over
myself as well. Wouldn't want to chafe, I told myself, suppressing a giggle.
Getting the suit on without help was a challenge. If the rubber had been any
thicker, I would never have gotten my feet into the boots. The neck was
reinforced, but even so, I worried that it might tear as I struggled to pull it
over my hips and get my arms and shoulders into it. I'm a big girl, not
overweight, in fact a little too slender Jurgen used to tell me, but I have an
ample bosom and a prominent, muscular derrier, so I had to work to get the neck
over them. I had to force my breasts through the holes by hand. The feeling as
they plopped through and my nipple rings hit the inside of the cups was
exquisite.
Finally, as the collar opening shrank against my neck, the plugs slid into me
suddenly and I gasped at being stuffed so full without warning. I held onto the
mirror for balance as a little wave of warmth swept through me. I wondered for
a moment whether the plugs I had chosen might be a little too large, but then
threw caution to the wind. I might not talk Jurgen into sex at the lab, but I
was definitely going to enjoy this night!
Now that I was fully dressed, I indulged in a moment of narcissism, standing
before the dressing mirror to admire myself. The fit was perfect! I couldn't
have asked for better. Even the fingers of the gloves fit snugly and without a
wrinkle, which is unusual.
I took a few tentative steps and found that I could walk without breaking my
neck, but I'd have to go slowly at first. While these heels were only a little
higher than the ones I wore almost every day, the effect on my balance was
significant. It would take time before I could walk in them as easily as my
regular shoes.
For a moment, I forgot about my mission, revelling in the tight feeling of the
second skin that encased me. I admit I got a little carried away and I found
myself digging my fingers into my crotch, kneading my breasts. I was thoroughly
turned on before I caught myself. With a struggle, I made myself stop, telling
myself to save it for Jurgen.
I turned my attention to the corset. Lacing it was easier than it would sound.
I think I have mentioned before that Jurgen built me a "lacing machine" after I
complained that I couldn't lace myself into any of my corsets without his help.
He's such a little inventor! Perhaps I should describe it. It's just two
little winches, mounted on opposite walls of the play room and hooked up to a
remote control. I just put one hook through each lace, thumb the button, and
they pull in opposite directions. The only hard part is that I have to back off
the winches, unhoook the laces, and do the final tightening and knot-tying
myself.
I watched in the mirror across the room as the machine slowly drew the corset
closed. I never grow tired of watching this fascinating process. What woman
WOULDN'T love to see her waist gradually shrinking before her eyes? As the
pressure on my abdomen built, I couldn't help wiggling a little. The dildos
filling me front and rear responded, and I gasped. I already knew I would have
to take it in steps. This corset was TIGHT! Even though I tight-lace on a daily
basis, I had to stop several times to rest and allow my poor torso to adjust.
After about half an hour, I finally had the laces closed, knotted, and concealed
beneath the locking cover. After only a few minutes, my abdomen became adjusted
and stopped hurting, although it was still slightly uncomfortable. I would
never have got it closed if I hadn't already been tight-lacing for years. And
tight? I was held rigidly erect. The rigid embrace of this garment felt even
more like a sort of portable bondage - one of the reasons I got into corsetting
in the first place. Between the compression of my waist and the plugs down
below, I was really getting turned on. At least I'd be in prime condition for
Jurgen! On a lark, I decided to leave the key to the lock on the dresser when I
left.
The only thing left now was the hood.
Diary, you already know how I feel about hoods. The sensation of having my
hearing reduced, of the tight latex clinging around my head, is delightful.
Most of the ones Jurgen has bought for me have gags fitted, and well... you know
how I love having my mouth filled, too.
I decided to use the breathe-through inflatable gag tonight. It took effort to
snap it into place, and I discovered it was impossible to spit out without
removing it from the hood. The hood was made of the same thick purple rubber as
the suit, so I lubricated it too, then spread more goo on my bare scalp. With
only a slight struggle, I pulled the thick helmet on, and it slid into place
with a wet sucking sound. It was no trouble to get the nostril tubes in my nose
so I could breath freely.
It took a little more work to get the wide collar of the helmet tucked into and
under the collar of the suit, but I did it. All of this was rather tiring, and
I knew I'd probably need my husband's help to get out of the outfit. I fitted
the pump to the mouthpiece, and pumped it, feeling the limp bladder within my
mouth suddenly swell, gradually filling my cheeks, forcing my jaw apart, and
making speech impossible. When my mouth was nicely full, I removed the pump from
the tiny valve and screwed the little plug in. Looking in the mirror, it was
difficult to tell that there was anything between the shiny molded lips of the
mask.
I left the pump on the dresser too. Jurgen has always liked me gagged, and I
figured that if he wanted to talk to me when I got there, he could always
improvise something to release the pressure- he's handy that way. In the
meantime, I wanted to feel helpless, trapped.
Okay, I was dressed. The only remaining task was to wipe off the dribbles of
lubricant and apply a liberal amount of polish to the suit. That took only
moments, and when I was done, I hesitated. I have never done anything quite
this daring before. Suppose I was stopped by a police officer? I'm embarrassed
to say that the idea of being helplessly incommunicado before a uniformed
officer sent a sudden throb though me. I suppressed a shudder, and buried my
fears.
Before I left, I took a last look in the mirror, admiring the deep color and
brilliant shine of the suit. My breasts jutted out improbably high and firm,
the corset held me brutally erect, while my now tiny waist (not to mention the
back curve of the corset) emphasized my bust and buttocks even further. The
skyscraper heels and the unbroken line of the boots showed off my legs to great
advantage.
Not bad for thirty-four, I told myself. I strutted carefully to the stairs, and
began picking my way carefully down to the front hall. That took longer than it
should have, because the bouncing motions I made were repeated and amplified by
those darned dildos inside me, and I had to stop several times for deep
breathing and clenching teeth. Eventually, I made my way into the hall, found
the car keys, and headed off for the lab and my poor unsuspecting husband.
...continued in Part II
