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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Clare
By Autolycus (address withheld)

***

An affulent middle-aged man sets off to investigate 
noises from an adjoining property that he knows to be 
empty. There he finds someone who is his match in 
depravity and is prepared to go all the way. A tale of 
how experienced people can create the wildest heights 
of pleasure and pain. (MF, tg, ws, scat)

***

I was – as usual – in my own in the house, doing my own 
thing and scratching my own back, a state that was not 
unpleasant to me. Although just turned fifty and 
retired with an excellent golden handshake, I never had 
any particular notion of age, fancying myself about 
forty and realising that I still had a lot of living to 
do. An old problem caused by poor circulation had been 
attended to, and I had to make up for all those 
collapsed erections: during the surgery I even had a 
couple of inches added to my member, my revitalised 
body being quite capable of supporting the extension. 

Since that current state had been with me for only a 
few months, I was still consorting with ladies of the 
night, casual acquaintances and my trusty computer. 
More and more, however, I was contemplating how I could 
utilise the curious additions that I had bought with 
the house.  

It was during such a session of downloading that I 
became aware of noises seeming to emanate from the next 
door...which was surprising since the occupant was on 
an extended holiday to New Zealand. And this at one 
o'clock in the morning. I checked the back of the house 
– the house was one part of a secluded semi - and found 
the lights on, and found the same at the front. Sally 
must be back and, since there was obviously activity, I 
rang the bell to offer any help she might require. She 
was, after all, easy on the eye. The strange woman who 
answered my call was not Sally, although there was a 
facial resemblance, and I remembered that Sally had 
warned me that a relative would be 'house watching' 
during her absence. We made our introductions and she 
asked me if I could oblige her with a cigarette.

'Only roll-ups, I'm afraid,' I offered. 'Would you like 
me to make you a couple? They're a bit strong.'

'Oh, no problem, I can roll my own,' she boasted 
enthusiastically, and I realised that she was certainly 
merry, if not drunk.

Excusing myself for a moment, I hurried back home and 
procured a fresh pack of tobacco and some skins. She 
was most grateful and invited me to join her for a 
drink and/or a coffee. I wasn't in the least tired and 
it seemed to be a pleasant way to spend an hour so I 
accepted her offer with alacrity. Settled on the sofa 
with a generous glass of deep red Lambrusco in my hand, 
we talked.

Her name was Clare and she normally lived some thirty 
miles away, sharing her home with her children – 
although since both were at university the sharing was 
done at weekends and vacations. Hence she could 
undertake her current duties. The conversation was 
animated and, driven by the booze, somewhat open. Clare 
had poured the wine before settling herself at the 
other end of that sofa, and then she set about making a 
cigarette. The conversation had distracted her, 
however, and I watched her go through the actions of 
making a joint before she realised what she had done. 
To take the sting out of the situation I waited until 
just the right moment before offering her my stash.

'Perhaps you'll need this now,' I said, with a grin.

'Well, thank you, kind sir,' she replied with an 
appreciative smile, 'I quite forgot myself there. Too 
much booze.'

She finished making a joint and then lit it, starting 
on a pointless and convoluted story about some of her 
relatives. Her gestures, as one would imagine, were 
boozy loose and I let the story wash over my head while 
I studied the woman. I estimated Clare's age well on 
the wrong side of forty, her years written into her 
face, the back of her hands, and her legs, given to 
ropey tendons and hard muscle. She had a school-marmish 
plumpness – all boobs and buttocks - but was tall 
enough to carry it graciously. Other than that she was 
unremarkably pretty and even wore spectacles, narrow 
ones that added to the no-nonsense look. 

She moved all the time, continually crossing and 
uncrossing her legs or tugging at her clothes; 
something was making her hyperactive and I started to 
wonder if this Clare woman was fancying a frolic. I 
certainly wouldn't have objected...and there was an 
attractive hardness about her face that suggested that 
she carried some experience. I directed my conversation 
accordingly, using the fact that a cable program was 
running on the television. The picture resolved itself 
into a torrid embrace and I used that on my cue.

'Strong stuff on these new channels,' I ventured. 'One 
hardly needs to have rude videos any more.'

'Oh, I know!' she gushed. 'No wonder the kids of today 
know so much. I've actually got an eighty centimetre 
dish at home, so that I can track European stations. 
That's fun, at the right time.'

'So I've heard,' I replied, 'And the installer won't 
put them up in the front garden. I wonder why? I prefer 
to search the net myself.'

'Is that worth while? All I ever get – or Sally, for 
that matter, can get - isn't up to much.'

'You're looking in wrong places,' I whispered 
secretively. The wine and the smoke had already 
loosened my tongue. 'There's lots and lots to be had, 
mainly for free, and covering every depravity and 
perversion you could – or couldn't – imagine.'

Clare was all ears and eyes. 'And I suppose that you 
put this to full use?'

I shrugged depreciatingly. 'I've got three and a half 
Gig that I've downloaded and stored.'

'I don't really understand those terms,' she replied, 
'What's that in pictures?'

'About sixty thousand photos, drawings, cartoons and 
stories.' I boasted. 'I've even got a selection of 
video clips.'

Clare was suitably impressed. At one point I had 
uncrossed my legs – being a great believer in body 
language and thereby offering myself to her – and was 
surprised to see her respond: with one leg drawn up 
under her body and the other moving all the time, she 
was definitely responding. I was getting some fine 
views of her stockinged thighs and – occasionally – a 
glimpse of her undies. This was developing well.

'Sixty thousand pictures of what?' she pressed me. 
'That number of screwing couples would be boring.'

'True,' I agreed. I liked her bluntness. 'That's why I 
have a huge variety; my tastes are very cosmopolitan.'

'They must be!' Clare hooted. 'So? Like what? Do tell.'

That presented me with a bit of a problem. The 
conversation was acquiring direction: the next few 
minutes might swing it one was or the other, and I 
found myself curiously attracted to the lady at the 
other end of the sofa. The more I studied her face, the 
more I watched her almost lewdly loose body language, 
the more certain I was that Clare was a force to be 
reckoned with. I fenced.

'That depends,' I said.

'On what?'

'On how cosmopolitan your tastes are.'

Clare's response to this was a fit of coughing, brought 
on by her trying to laugh and exhale cannabis smoke at 
the same time: it took a good quarter-bottle of 
Lambrusco to help her regain her composure...and her 
breath.

'What was that again?' I asked innocently, fending off 
the cushion flung at me with some force.

'What I was trying to say,' she said in a squeaky 
voice, 'Was “been there, done that, and got the T-
shirt”!'

'Sez you.'

'Sez me!' she insisted. She cupped her ample breasts 
and weighed them, almost offering them to me before 
smoothing the rest of her clothes into place. Clare 
didn't have a bad body for her age: I had a vision of a 
soft, cuddly body with lots of tits and ass, and felt 
my own sex twitch a response. Clare continued, 'I've 
never been married. Know that? There have always been 
other things that interested me where the presence of a 
permanent attachment would have been... well... 
inconvenient. I've played the field, Mister, and you'll 
find that I'm familiar with at least some of your 
bizarre collection. So, tell.'

'Very well, here's a very broad index of my 
collection.' I ran through the ten major headings into 
which I placed my various downloads – Toon Sets through 
to video clips by way of Big Babies, watersports, 
shemales, rubber, and BDSM. Although I used several 
abbreviations, Clare never asked for fuller meanings, 
repeated each word after me and filling out those 
abbreviations where necessary. She made it sound like a 
litany. 'Those are only my main listings, of course; 
the sub-divisions are legion.'

'Sixty thousand!' she whispered, and then 'I don't 
believe you.'

'You'd best come and see for yourself, then,' I 
retorted and, more seriously, 'But don't say I didn't 
warn you. I don't want you telling people that I'm 
taking advantage of you, or forcing you to watch 
something that offends. Any problems with that?'

'Do you want an application in my own hand? If I don't 
like it, I'll pass over it. I'm more likely to insist 
that you show me how to collect my own sixty thousand 
pictures. Did you say 'stories' as well?'

'A couple of hundred, all subjects, some I've 
downloaded, some are all my own work.'

'There's a link already,' Clare crowed. 'You can read 
my stories, illustrated in my own fair hand. Now, am I 
coming through to your house?'

'Since that where my computer lives, it might not be a 
bad idea. Coming?'

'Later.' Her smile was definitely encouraging. 'Give me 
fifteen minutes to titivate myself and I'll be knocking 
on your door. A gal's got to look her best when she's 
invited out.'

I stood up, pointedly ignoring the obvious lump in the 
leg of my trousers but aware that Clare's eyes were 
fixed on it. I made my way to her front door. 'See you 
later, then' I said, by way of parting and then, almost 
as though I was challenging her, 'Don't go to the loo. 
If you're as experienced as you say you are, we might 
need it.'

'I had no intention of and you neither,' she smirked as 
the door closed behind me.

Given that a woman always takes twice as long as she 
promised, I didn't expect her within half an hour and 
that I put to good use by tidying my own place, setting 
up a viewing area around my computer, and making a few 
minor changes to my costume. I always wore panties – at 
least, usually more – under my slacks (my erection in 
Clare's had been caressed by a pair of soft, silky 
panties) and I changed them for a fresh pair of cool 
pink rubber knicks and a matching slip and, as an 
afterthought, added a pair of black, self-supporting 
latex stockings. Replacing my slacks and silken shirt, 
I realised that I had a curious feeling about this 
meeting with Clare. 

I decided to let her see my 'A' folders, a hodge-podge 
of my most recent downloads, and they contained bits of 
everything. I'd soon find out if this woman was as 
experienced as she thought. I moved two office chairs 
in front of the monitor, created a 'Welcome' frame, and 
left it standing in readiness. I settled a bottle of 
wine, filtre coffee, a couple of joints and a couple of 
lines of coke on my desk and sat back, adding odd 
pictures – mostly of myself as Penelope – from their 
proper locations to the 'A' folders until I heard the 
discreet tap on my front door.

Clare had a heavy overcoat wrapped around her, but when 
she discarded it I could see that she, too, had sensed 
the mood and dressed to suit. Gone was the rather dowdy 
dress that she had been wearing earlier; in its place 
was a plain fronted silken blouse that did wonders for 
her loose, ample breasts, and a short flared skirt a la 
schoolgirl. Stockings and shoes had changed as well – 
and Clare was very much the femme fatal. She was also 
carrying a further supply of wine and, stuffed under 
her arm, a fat brown envelope. The glasses were gone, 
too, either replaced by contact lenses or not required.

'There's wine upstairs,' I said, 'Coffee, coke and 
smoke as well. Since my computer's up there, shall we 
proceed? After you!'

And I had the pleasure of watching her plump bottom 
weave a sensuous dance about six inches from my nose.

My late Victorian house, my new late Victorian house, 
was designed for a large family (and servants) so I had 
plenty of room. The master bedroom was the place where 
I slept and entertained my visiting whores and she-
males. A little remodelling had given that room an 
entrance into the bathroom and loo and further 
remodelling had made the two rooms on the 'bathroom' 
side of the landing into one. 

The other room on the opposite side of the stair well 
served as my workroom - and the wall that separated the 
two rooms at that end of the house had been stripped 
out and was currently separated by a black rubber 
curtain and, of necessity, a partition to conceal the 
curtain. Behind that rubber curtain was my pride and 
joy, my Temple to Depravity. 

In joining the spare rooms on the first floor I had 
given myself an area of about thirty feet by twenty-
five. A part of this was taken up with the two part loo 
– one refined and suitable for guests being entertained 
in the master bedroom, the other part open to the Play 
area and providing such exotics as Skye toilets, 
showers and the like. In the far corner, diametrically 
opposite to my study, was a small dining space and, 
next to it, the relaxing room that would serve as a 
cinema when necessary... or a stage. 

There were several items in the extended room, like an 
old fashioned hospital bed, most unusually a double 
sized one, with it's mattress sealed in a plastic sack 
and covered in turn with a red rubber sheet and several 
matching pillows. It's metal ends were provided with a 
variety of means of restraint, and the sides of the bed 
could be drawn up to form a cot. Elsewhere in the 
elongated room were the Skye toilets– one home-made, 
rather well made, I thought – with it's transparent 
rubber head- encompassing bowl, a bondage chair, and a 
sturdy rubber-covered table that had more attachments 
for restraint and other inconveniences. 

I had been planning this Temple for over two years – 
ever since I had heard of my impending retirement – and 
had kept an eye open for those obscure auctions where 
all manner of strange things turned up. That was where 
I found the bed and, subsequently, the '40s dental 
chair and an even older gynaecological examination 
table – all wheels, pulleys and restraints. And there 
was room for a rows of garment racks, with shelves and 
chests of drawers set amongst them to contain other 
items. All other surfaces, when not taken up with 
storage space or mirrors, were draped in sheets of 
black rubber. 

Finally, the partitions between all these 'rooms' were 
rubber curtains that were hung close to the ceiling and 
trailed on the floor. The whole area was illuminated by 
lights set into the ceiling and corners, and all 
connected to a control panel set near the entrance. 
Whilst waiting for Clare I had set them to give 
sufficient light to see by. I had forgotten, however, 
to replaced the partition as had been my intention.

I hadn't planned to show Clare my Temple to Depravity, 
not at least until much later, but that sassy lady laid 
the wine and package on my work table and turned to 
give the curtains a closer examination. Of course, she 
immediately found the split in the curtains and peeped 
through. It was a long peep, and when she drew the 
curtains shut and turned to face me her eyes were wide, 
sparkling, and her mouth made a silent 'O'.

'Sorry,' I apologised, falsely, 'I didn't want you to 
look behind there.'

Clare stood close, and made great sigh. 'Do you realise 
that my – Sally's - bed butts directly onto that wall? 
That... all... everything that I've seen was only a 
couple of bricks away?' She shook her head. 'What a 
waste.' She sighed again.

'Better that we've made the discovery now, rather than 
not at all,' I offered, and told her the story about my 
dope-less neighbours in a far-off bedsit. She laughed. 
'What about some refreshment?' I suggested, 'And 
stimulation. Then we can proceed to my cine bleu.'

'This is very kind of you,' Clare complimented me, 
sniffling the after effects of a nostril of coke. She 
stretched languidly as another effect took her. 
'Wheeee!' she exclaimed, 'Good gear!'

'I have a friend...'

'Haven't we all, dearie.' Clare replied in a husky 
voice.

My own heart was thumping furiously and all my senses 
tingled. Clare stood no more than arm's length away 
from me, her scarlet lips parted and her tongue 
flicking over them, her colour high and her breathing 
rapid. I don't think either of us initiated the 
action... ut suddenly we were locked in a tight 
embrace, our mouths devouring, tongues raping, and 
hands sweeping over each other's bodies. Fired by the 
booze and the drugs, the embrace was wild, an embrace 
of two people who were old enough to know what they 
were about. 

I was conscious of the pressure of her heavy breasts 
against me, her nipples soft daggers on my chest, her 
hips frottaging my erection as I cupped and squeezed 
her buttocks ...and held her close. And it went on and 
on: it seemed as though our bodies became a melded 
whole. By mutual consent we broke off, due to near 
suffocation.

'Whee!' Clare carolled, gasping for breath, 'That was 
some snog. Made me feel like I was twenty again.'

'So?' I replied. 'You felt to me like you were about 
eighteen, actually. Sex, the eternal youth drug.'

'Thank you again, kind Sir,' Clare made me a curtsey. 
'Ah... peaking of drugs...' and she looked pointedly at 
the joints awaiting our attentions.

I lit one, drew deeply on it, and passed it to her. I 
also poured a large glass of wine and placed beside of 
the monitor, motioning her towards one of the office 
seats. When she was sitting comfortably I pushed the 
keyboard in front of her. The monitor showed the 
'Welcome' frame.

'What do I do now?' Clare asked, pretending to be all 
agog.

'You make it go,' I explained. 'Every time you press 
the space bar, the picture changes. To go back you 
press Page Up, and if you come across something you 
don't like just flick past it.'

'Okay,' she replied eagerly. 'I bought something for 
you to look at in case you didn't want to watch with 
me.' She paused and gave me an arch look. 'I'd rather 
you stayed, though,' she giggled and her hand found 
mine, 'To explain the bits I can't understand and... 
well... keep me company.'

'You've got it, kid,' I said, drawing up my chair. 
'Start the ball rolling. I'll look forward to reading 
your stories another time.' Her fingers touched the 
space bar.

As it happened, the first ten or twelve downloads were 
of the 'Pornotopia' range, artwork monsters and aliens 
performing with human females. I saw that Clare was 
totally engrossed in each picture and, in fact, I spent 
most of the time watching her face. That was most 
revealing, her eyes riveted on the screen, her lips 
parted, and that active pink tongue flicking across 
them. Some scenes made her eyes widen, and sometimes 
they grew wider still as she puzzled out some 
particular bizarrity. But she didn't miss one photo or 
drawing. The next few items came from DeMask, all 
rubbery with tubes and bonds. These slowed her down 
even more, each frame accompanied by a little 
exclamation from Clare. 

The joint over, I stood up – allegedly to collect as 
ashtray – and positioned myself directly behind her. 
She supped deep from her glass and then allowed her 
free hand to fall into her lap where it pressed her 
skirt up between her parted thighs. Clare was 
masturbating, and at that point I felt that I should 
assist her. After laying my hands on her shoulders, by 
way of reassurance, I slid them down until I held her 
breasts, all slippery from her silky blouse. 

She gave a pleasurable little cry and thrust them 
further into my hands. The screen showed a couple of my 
own drawings followed by several she-male shots – these 
were the ones that Clare actually coo-ed over – with a 
couple of myself to finish them off. That earned a 
happy grin from her – I hadn't made any particular 
effort to disguise myself – and she clicked her way 
through about eighty pictures. It took a good hour. 
Never once did she hurry past an image or set; every 
one was given Clare's best attentions. 

She leaned against the back of the chair, stretching 
and entwining her arms around my neck, drawing my head 
down for another frenetic kiss. She arched her neck and 
frottagιd my erection with the back of her head. She 
patted the chair beside her and ordered that I resume 
my seat. Sliding my arm around her shoulders I cupped 
her breasts again, rolling her engorged nipples between 
my fingers and then pinching them until she squealed. 

During the show Clare had ceased to make any attempt to 
conceal her busy hand, by this time parting her legs to 
give her hand better access her sex. For a few moments 
her hand rested on my thigh and then it grasped my 
prick. Enjoying another passionate kiss, I freed one 
hand to slide it under her skirt - and made a startling 
discovery.

Clare was wearing rubber knickers.

'Now do you see why I was so impressed with the other 
half of this room?” she whispered huskily. She managed 
to refill our glasses without disturbing the position 
of my hands. 'Can I light the other reefer?' 

'Sure.' I said. 'Taking a break?' 

'Mmmmm, sort of. You can get too much of a good thing.' 
She gave me a wicked grin. 'Even the best of things. 
How many have I watched so far?'	

I glanced at the counter. 'Eighty-two, so the clock 
says.'

'Out of?'

'About two hundred and forty, They're one of my 
downloads that I haven't got round to sorting yet. Do 
you believe my claim of sixty thousand now?'

She gave me a charming smile. 'I didn't really doubt 
you, I wanted to believe you,' she admitted, 'But I've 
had lots of experiences where I've been promised a lot 
and come away disappointed.'

'Me, too.' I sighed. 'About one in a hundred was worth 
the journey.'

'Enough gloom!' she declared theatrically, the effect 
spoilt by her bursting into laughter part way through. 
'At least, on this one night, we've found something 
extraordinary. Let's not waste a moment of it.'

Clare's laughter was infectious, and served well to 
break down any reservations that were still left 
between us. 'Oh, true,' I replied, 'Not one solitary 
minute.' I drew her attention back to the monitor. 
'Does Madame wish to proceed?'

For an answer Clare grabbed another passionate kiss: 
she was really good at kissing. 'Later, maybe,' she 
said huskily, sipping her wine and then gazing at me 
over her shoulder. 'How many more do I have to watch 
before I get invited through the curtains there?' She 
indicated the rubber curtains that separated the room'

'I think you've already earned your pass,' I said. I 
had stopped mauling her breasts, employing both hands 
along the gusset of her knicks. I was kneeling by this 
time, making things much easier all round. Clare seemed 
to be a very lubricious woman: she had a positive pool 
of juice that slithered the rubber over her sex. I even 
dared a deeper thrust that brought my finger against 
her asshole. There were no objections, only a little 
cry from the base of her throat. 

It occurred to me that some of the fluid feel of her 
breasts might be due to a rubber bra. I continued, 'For 
now I suggest a substantial supper, washed down with 
lots of liquid, while we talk about old times.' She 
moved slightly and then ran the tip of her fingers 
along the length the bulge that my erection was making 
in my trousers: the bulge welcomed her. 'Perhaps a 
change into more comfortable clothes might be helpful, 
too.' I added.

'Suits me,' Clare murmured, 'Anything suits me at the 
moment,'

'Blessings heaped on blessings, then,' I exclaimed. I 
pushed my luck. 'And will Madame need to go back next 
door for her more comfortable attire?...or can I 
perhaps provide something from my own wardrobe? I've 
notice that we're about the same size...and rubber is a 
very forgiving fabric.'

'We are about the same size, aren't we,' Clare giggled, 
'And I noticed that that applies to your feminine 
clothes as well. We make a splendid pair – foursome – 
of 38Ds. Okay, Madame's quite happy to wear your rubber 
clothes...and anything else that you might feel 
appropriate now - or later. Go and make a supper, lay 
out these relaxing clothes of yours, and set up next 
door for visitors. Meanwhile, I'll stay here and 
explore some more of this fascinating collection.' 

I moved my chair back to the wall, moving Clare's into 
the centre of the screen, and showed her how to select 
any of my folders and subfolders by name, Clare was 
obviously far more familiar with computers than the 
earlier exchange had suggested, and made my exit... 
leaving the door open behind me. 

There was a strangeness about the night. It occurred to 
me that this was a very loose arrangement. Neither of 
us had discussed our preferences, tastes or limits – 
and yet it was shaping into a wonderful – if messy - 
session. I didn't object to that, but did Clare know 
what she was letting herself in for? The pictures that 
she had seen so far that evening had all been fetish-
orientated, the ones that she was 'Coo-ing' over while 
I prepared supper were certainly as depraved as I could 
produce; most of them were of me anyway – on my own or 
with others – and they left nothing to the imagination. 
If Clare didn't object to them, then we were kindred 
spirits. 

When I left my 'office' I had picked up the envelope 
that she had brought with her: it bore some 
photographs, and an A4 spiral notebook. The first photo 
showed Clare, in bondage, kneeling behind another woman 
and slobbering over a fat turd jutting out of her 
asshole. The others – some twenty in all – revealed 
Clare either giving or receiving bondage, humiliation, 
or indulging in the wildest depravities. Then there was 
the notebook in which she recorded her thoughts and 
ideas, reports of singularly exciting activities, and 
all illustrated with (presumably) her own drawings. The 
pics were clear, the colour good, and her notebook was 
written in a neat and precise hand. Her drawings, too, 
were excellent.

That answered just about any questions I might have 
had, and I continued with my preparations. I laid out 
the table in the snuggery, even making use of some 
'romantic' candles that I had purchased through the 
Net. The web page described them as 'aphrodisiac' due 
to the 'subtle aromas' mixed in the wax...and I had to 
admit that the aromas were the nearest thing to the 
smell of cunt juices that I had ever smelt; it would be 
interesting to see Clare's reaction. Then came the 
choice of costumes. 

For Clare I chose a simple white rubber tunic, tightly 
banded about her neck and with a hem that would almost 
reach her knees. Another broad, tight band about her 
waist would hold the material taut across her breasts 
and provide extra anchorage for her rubber knickers. 
The red rubber gloves-cum-sleeves would be like a 
second skin over her arms until they melded with the 
short bouffant sleeves – the only decoration. 

There were a few additions to the girl's outfit, of 
course, like black latex stockings that would 
eventually cover the curious shaped legs of the white 
rubber knickers. The knicks had a rubber glove built 
into the gusset with the opening shaped like the 
external genitals of a woman set slightly forward of 
the real thing: since the crutch was loose, a hand 
inserted into the glove gave finger access to every 
part of the wearer's sex. These, of course, she would 
not see until later. She would have to come out of the 
bondage sleeve, of course ...but I had other ideas in 
mind. After all, there was the matter of feeding Clare, 
if she wanted that particular depravity. 

For a moment I paused and wondered as to the wisdom of 
what was happening. In a little over an hour I had met 
a complete stranger, a woman to boot, who was currently 
viewing my pornographic collection, who had returned my 
embraces and caresses with a passion that many couples 
long married would have envied, and with whom I was 
about to engage in several hours of filthy, depraved 
sex. And all this on the briefest of exchanges about 
not going to the loo. Such occasions could only happen 
in fantasy, I reasoned, as in one of my own stories. 
And yet that hour had happened, and I could hear 
Clare's comments, her little cries of surprise and 
delight and - I hoped – appreciation, as she flicked 
through the 'pages' of my bizarrity. 

Maybe I had gone mad, instantaneously, or slipped into 
another dimension. But I hadn't and, as Clara had put 
it, we had found this one night and we should put it to 
good use. If it's nature reminded me of one of my own 
fantasies, then a Fantasie I would act out; it would be 
interesting to see at what point Clare called 'Stop! 
Enough!'...if she did. With that in mind I turned my 
attention to my own costume, determined to give Clara a 
show to remember.

I peeped in at Clare and was surprised that she was 
reading a story, one of mine. (No, I didn't have 
telescopic vision: different typeface.) She seemed 
engrossed in it, however, her head craned forward to 
the monitor and her hips rolling from side to side on 
the chair and her free hand was busy between her legs. 
Since she would be busy for the next few minutes I 
collected such garments that I wanted to wear and made 
my way to the bedroom. Once there I had access to my 
vanity table. I stripped off all my clothes, reflecting 
on how – only about an hour ago - I had tempted fate by 
donning a pair of rubber panties, and powdered myself 
all over. 

Fine black rubber stockings came first, self supporting 
with the garters drawn well up my thighs, and then a 
matching corset made of more substantial rubber. I had 
brought my 'falsies' with me but the mood of the thing 
demanded another filling. In a little closet that 
provided me with my morning toiletries was a wash 
basin, and in that wash basin several filled sheaths 
lay warming in water. 

This was no surprise: I had already planned for a 
little solitary treat before meeting Clare and it would 
be a shame to waste all those lovely filled sheaths. It 
took four sheaths to fill each cup – warm, squidgy 
sheaths that contained either my shit or my piss, or a 
mixture of both – and, because there were nipple holes 
in the cups of my corset bra, I slipped a couple of the 
teats through each hole; the pressure behind them gave 
me prominent nipples. It also left two sheaths lying in 
the bowl and I suddenly knew where they were destined 
for. That idea was even worth a gleeful chuckle.

I considered my red rubber knicks. I didn't don them at 
that point, that would come later, after some other 
preparations. I took up my robe and let it slither down 
my body, wriggling my hands into the attached gloves 
and easing the broad band that enclosed my neck into 
place. I smoothed the gloves until they were literally 
a second skin. They were red, as was the neckband, but 
the rest of the gown was matt black rubber, gathered 
around my waist to emphasise my breasts and then 
falling gracefully to the floor. 

The sleeves draped wide on my arms until they were 
gathered into the four inch cuffs on my gloves. It also 
had a long flowing hood that either graced my shoulders 
or could be worn, magically menacing, over my head. My 
T-bar black heels on, I twirled and posed at my cheval 
glass, hood up and down, and I was not disappointed. Of 
course, there was that proturbance. Well, nobody's 
perfect... 

I glanced at the clock: fifteen minutes had 
passed...and I was sure Clare wouldn't have noticed 
them pass. Another five minutes would finish the job, 
and I sat at my vanity table. I was quite an 
accomplished hand at war paint. The right base to suit 
the wig I had in mind, a deft hand with the lipstick 
and eyeliner, a touch of mascara, and Penelope was 
looking at me out of the mirror. I blew myself a kiss 
and eased the wig into place, it's rubber backing 
making a fast fix to my bald skull. 

The neighbours might pity the old guy who'd lost all 
his hair: little did they know that there wasn't a hair 
on my body, that I'd been depilated years before to 
suit my flame of the time. The wig was a dark auburn, 
cut short until it was almost butch, perfect for the 
evening. I walked through the bathroom, enjoying the 
cool caress of the rubber gown against my erection and 
then, just before I drew the rubber curtains, I changed 
the lighting to feature the bed and the 'work table', 
and drew my hood forward until my face would be almost 
invisible. Only then did I draw the rubber curtain open 
about three feet, standing in the gap.

'Your presence is required, Madam,' I intoned, all 
Sister Efficiency, 'For treatment.'

Clare jumped right out of the seat, spinning round 
towards me, her face scarlet. 

'Shit, Donald, you scared... Donald...? Donald...?' 
Great! She didn't recognise me. I threw back my hood 
and stepped into my 'office', much amused by Clare's 
wide-eyed and gaping astonishment.

'Donald?' she asked again. This was getting repetitive.

'I'm sorry, Madam,' I smirked, 'Donald's been 
unexpected called away. He's asked me to continue your 
treatment. My name's Penelope.' I stepped back and 
beckoned her. 'Now, if you've like to come this way I 
can prepare you for supper.'

'I think I've just lost it,' she muttered to herself, 
still apparently shocked. 'Too much sex and drugs and 
rock-and-roll,' and then, with a carolle of delight, 
she threw herself into my arms. 'Fucking hell, 
Penelope, you sure know how to turn a girl on!' While I 
held her in a loose embrace, her skirt followed her 
blouse, followed – after a bit of a struggle - by her 
nylons. Once her feet were back inside here high heeled 
shoes, Clare made the embrace anything but loose as she 
moulded her plump body against mine, savouring the 
rubber and fondling my prick. She tugged at the 
material, pressing it to her lips and making little 
mewing sounds of pleasure. Her hand crept up to my 
breasts and fondled them, examining them at the same 
time.

'Interesting,' she mused, leaning back into my arms, 
still examining my breasts. 'Soft, very soft... and 
with nipples! My goodness, Penelope, what have you 
filled your cups with?'

'I might even tell you... later.' I turned her towards 
the bed and let her inspect the various items laid on 
there. Clare was a woman who carried her life in her 
face: if she felt an emotion it was written there, at 
once, and the items on the bed gave rise to a whole 
flock of them ranging from the amazed to the curious. 
Once or twice she drew breath to speak, and then 
thought better of it: she ran a appreciative finger 
along the glycerine torpedoes – two of which lay in 
each kidney basin – and then raised her costume and 
held it against her body, viewing herself in the 
mirrored wall. Then she examined the garments 
carefully, giving voice to a squeal of delight when she 
discovered the glove set in the gusset of the knicks.

 She sighed. 'Adequate, I suppose,' she admitted, 
although the appreciation in her voice didn't agree 
with the statement. 'Oh, Penelope!' she cried, 'How 
exciting! What comes next?'

'Treatment. For both of us.'

Clare raised one of the suppositories. 'Are you sure 
this will help my sprained ankle, nurse? Do I rub it 
on?' She laughed.

'Trust me, my dear,' I replied, clearing the bed. I 
introduced a new character. 'Trust Nursie to apply it 
to the right place. Now, if you'd like to lie in the 
cot...'

'Me?'

'Ladies first. After all, it's better to be second: you 
have the opportunity to get your own back – if you want 
to.'

'Make sure you give me cause to,' Clare muttered as she 
climbed into the cot. When she made to roll on to her 
stomach I pressed her firmly back into the mattress and 
then drew one of her arms over her head, buckling a 
rubber wristlet in place and then attending to the 
other. Clare raised no objections; in fact, her little 
pleasure sounds were very encouraging. Her hands 
secured, Nursie explained that it was necessary to 
remove Madam's rubber panties. 

Even though Clare obligingly raised her hips and helped 
all she could, it was still quite a hassle... probably 
because I was trying to retain as much of her copious 
juices in her knicks as possible. Once they were off I 
explored the gusset cupped in my hand. I was looking at 
a milky pool that might have filled an egg cup. The 
odour of her juices filled my senses. Clare watched me 
curiously as I slowly raised the pouched rubber to my 
mouth and dipped my tongue the viscous liquid. I moved 
it about until it was well coated with the syrupy stuff 
and then let Clare see it before I drew it into my 
mouth, savouring it's taste and texture.

'Madam has an excellent bouquet, if I might make so 
bold,' I said.

Clare didn't say anything. She just looked at me, a 
smile on her parted lips and an hopeful, expectant look 
in her eyes. Once again, I dipped my tongue into the 
potent pool but this time – when it was well coated – I 
positioned my head over hers and lowered it until our 
lips met. Hers formed a seal around mine and then I 
parted mine slowly, letting her cunt juices dribble 
into her mouth for our tongues to fight over. That was 
a very passionate kiss, and I was glad that Clare's 
hands were bound; I wasn't sure that I could control 
myself at that moment, should she get those hands on 
me.

'That's what I wanted!' she exclaimed, once we came up 
for air. 

'Happy to oblige,' I grinned. 'Now, if you'd just like 
to open wide you can have lots more' Instantly her 
mouth was gaping and I stuffed her rubber knicks into 
it, wrapping them in such a way that the creamy gusset 
was on the outside and closest to her taste buds. I 
could see her sucking and tasting her own cunt juices, 
and swallowing them.

I climbed on to the bed/cot, drawing up the metal side 
bars after me. They locked firmly in place; the bed was 
strongly made and although it looked like a hospital 
bed, I very much doubted whether it had ever graced a 
ward. Since it came with all the bondage fitments in 
place – and even a 'top' of the same construction to 
make a cage – I guessed that it might have been a prop 
for a pornographic film. It was too strong even for 
that, maybe: whatever, I'd have liked to seen the film 
or watched it in action. 

The curious thing was that it was approximately forty 
years old. I was sure it could have told some 
interesting tales. At that time, however, all I needed 
to add was a single metal bar that supported Clare's 
ankles and – as I moved the bar further towards her 
head - raised her buttocks from the bed. At each end of 
the bar, where it was secured to the side of the cot, 
there were another pair of cuffs that fixed her legs to 
the required width. 

A touch of the dimmer switches, and Clare's exposed 
genitals were illuminated. Her plump thighs were held 
apart by her leg restraints and her sex was a deep 
throbbing slash, a hairless slash. Her dark, ruby labia 
were swollen and glistening with her secretions, actual 
bubbles standing on the soft flesh and a trickle 
dribbling over her asshole. Lust fat though they were, 
they didn't completely cover the tip of her purple 
clitoris and they parted to reveal the edges of her 
twitching cunt. 

She shuddered and moaned as my rubber covered fingers 
touched her cunt lips and drew them apart, her clit 
jerking in a very male response to the colder air...and 
my breath. It must have been all of three inches long 
in its engorged state, and as fat as my middle finger. 
It begged acknowledgement and I provided that by making 
my tongue into a circle shape, a vagina, to surrender 
to Clare's demanding prick, and then slowly wriggled it 
along her clit – much as a woman would take her man 
from above. 

Clare's response was positively cosmic. As my 
tongue/vagina encompassed more and more of her 
prick/clit, her moans turned the squeals and then cries 
of delight, clearly audible through her makeshift gag. 
Her hips reared off the bed as her clit raped my tongue 
and almost immediately took up a thrusting motion. 
Clare was fucking me and loving it. I slid two fingers 
into her cunt, felt her vaginal muscles clamp around 
them, and then penetrated her ass with two fingers from 
my other hand. The muscles there relaxed to permit me 
entry. 

The movements of her hips grew wilder and her cries - 
short, throaty, muffled cries – matched those thrusts; 
Clare was approaching an orgasm that I didn't want her 
to have just then. I unfolded my tongue and uncovered 
her clitoris before nibbling it between my teeth. 
Clare's body jerked hard against her restraints and she 
gave voice to a piercing scream that her gag reduced to 
a mumble...at which point I stopped, dead, and leaned 
back on my hips to watch Clare's reactions.

Her eyes were screwed shut and her face flushed: her 
scream tailing off as she realised that I was not going 
to bring her to an orgasm. Her gag had stayed in place 
but her eyes flew open, searching mine for reasons. 
Nursie was back, I explained, and it was time to 
continue Clare's treatment.

'I'm afraid Madam got a little carried away there,' I 
continued, ignoring her mumbled protests that I guessed 
were to the effect that it had been all Nursie's fault. 
'Never mind. We shall just have to make sure that Madam 
is prevented from seeing what is happening, since it 
must be those sights that are distressing Madam.' I 
held up the two supps so that Clare could see them. I 
waved the larger one. 'This will be applied first,' I 
explained pedantically, 'And usually takes some time to 
locate it correctly. Once that has been done, the 
second, smaller but fatter dressing will be applied.' 

I held up the other suppository. 'This has the effect 
of anaesthetising the affected parts and putting them 
out of action for a couple of hours.' I put them back 
in the kidney bowl and raised a loose rubber bag: her 
eyes went into surprise mode as she saw the 
implications. Nursie smiled maliciously. The hood was 
circular with a single, tightly elasticated opening. It 
was also made of 'transparent' latex; the wearer would 
have only blurred images of what was happening around 
them. And Clare knew that. Even so, by the time I 
reached towards her head it was already raised from the 
mattress. 

'This is a sealed unit, Madam, I'm afraid, with only a 
limited amount of air,' I explained as I drew it over 
her head. 'Madam will have to be conservative with her 
breathing and not allow herself to become excited, and 
hope that the location of the first dressing doesn't 
take too long. Otherwise Madam might find herself 
suffocating...and the treatment, once started, cannot 
be stopped for any reason,' and, with that little tip I 
pulled the bag over Clare's head and settled the broad 
rubber seal snugly around her neck.

I was definitely sure that Clare was well aware of her 
situation when she drew a last frantic breath of pure 
air before the seal settled around her neck. She turned 
her head from side to side, trying to see what was 
happening through the latex. Everybody, me included, 
responded in the same way. She was soon to find new 
wonders performed on her.

I remarked earlier that I had dealt with my circulatory 
problems and, at the same time, had added a little 
length and girth to my manhood. Since all this was done 
at an expensive and private clinic in Switzerland, the 
results were a penis that was ten inches long and 
appropriately thick, the blood flow to support it, 
testicles enlarged to provide a flood of semen and – 
the dressing on the cake – the ability to recover 
quickly and even have multiple orgasms. Some of the 
treatments were a bit radical – illegal, even – but I 
was well pleased with the results. I wondered how Clare 
would feel about it.

I cleared the skirt of my robe free of any obstructions 
and tucked the front of the hem into the knotted white 
cord around my waist. My prick jutted out, throbbing, 
aching for a bit of the action. It was leaking copious 
amounts of pre-cum and the inside of my robe skirt was 
coated with it. I bent forward again and ran my tongue 
to and fro along Clare's slit, dipping into her cunt 
and probing her asshole at each pass. She squirmed and 
thrust her wet sex against agaist my face, desperate to 
come. 

After I had paid due respect to her sex, I inserted the 
Big One into her vagina and rotated it until it was 
well lubricated with her juices. Having retrieved it, I 
pressed it's tip against Clare's asshole and smiled at 
the way the puckered ring of muscles seemed to be 
kissing it as she strained out to receive it. Slowly, a 
bit at a time, I slid it into her, feeling her rectal 
muscles urging it further in. I pushed the supp into 
her to the length of my forefinger and felt her bowels 
drawing it away from my fingertip. 

I watched her hooded face, the latex swelling and 
contracting as she struggled to breathe through her 
nose, hearing the snorting as the material gathered 
around her nostrils and limited her air supply. I 
reached over and lifted it free for a few seconds, 
enough for her to regain her breath. The rubber hood 
was cloudy in places and rivulets of Clare's sweat ran 
along it.

'So far, so good!' Nursie exclaimed, loudly and slowly 
enough to be heard through the sac. 'Now we have to 
position the dressing exactly. Madam might feel a 
little discomfort at this point. You may, if you wish, 
spit out your pantie gag to help your breathing. I do 
hope we shall be in time.' I was surprised to see the 
gag remain in place: there must have still been some 
tasty goo on it.

I altered my position again, touching my purple glans 
against the entrance of her vagina. Clare stopped 
moving, sensing something different, trying to guess 
what it was. Then I worked the head into her cunt, 
moving slowly but never stopping, until the whole ten 
inches was buried inside her. Even with her ample 
lubrication it was a tight fit, and as my prick had 
made its stately progress into Clare, she had started 
to pant into the hood, make a nasal grunting that grew 
louder and louder until it was virtually a scream... 
and one of pleasure. 

Again I raised the rubber from her nose to help her 
breath. Her cunt was warm, wet, and tight, and she was 
milking me with her muscles as soon as my balls brushed 
her asshole. Her whole body jerked spasmodically, 
always searching for that elusive climax. But it still 
wasn't time, not yet. I withdrew until only the head of 
my prick was inside her and then drove it home again, 
this time with much more force, and repeated the action 
several times. Right up to the point, in fact, were I 
could tell that she was about to orgasm. Then I 
withdrew it completely, watching Clare's body sag as 
the treat was taken away from her.

And it stayed that way until she felt the pressure of 
my prick pushing against her asshole. She shook her 
head wildly from side to side. A definite 'no'. She 
could judge my size from my brief foray into her cunt 
and obviously was worried about that monster invading 
her rear. But the shaking head was contemplation of a 
thing that was being done to her that had to be 
endured. After all, Clare could always have spit out 
the pantie-gag and demanded that I stop. 

My cock was slippery with her cunt juices, but it was 
hard to force a passage and she naturally tried to pull 
away from the source of the pain. Reaching for the 
plastic ruler that lay convenient on the bed, I slapped 
her full, rubber-covered breasts several times, aiming 
blows to land on her nipples and each blow accompanied 
by a nasal yelp! that was part pain and part surprise. 
Then, suddenly, the constriction eased and my prick was 
moving into the wider avenues of her bowels. 

Again I pressed forward, feeling my glans encounter and 
then plough through her shit until, eventually, it 
connected with the suppository and forced it further 
into her. In that orifice, too, I kept up the pressure 
until my testicles touched her bottom. Then I stopped, 
my whole prick buried inside her, and released her 
breathing for the last time. She froze as well, 
dragging ragged breaths into her nose: it wouldn't be 
long before there was not enough pure air in the hood 
to sustain her.

'Now come!' I called to her, dropping the wet rubber 
back over her face. 'Nursie says you can come whenever 
you're ready,' and I set to fucking her asshole hard 
and fast. My own climax was only seconds away, and I 
was urged to it by Clare's gyrations, part lust and 
part a struggle to gain breath. They became wilder and 
wilder, more frenzied, as she suffocated in her hood. 
Her head swung from side to side and her whole torso 
writhed as her orgasm and her frantic need for air 
twisted her. Then the gag was out of her mouth and her 
last weak scream matched mine as I pumped my spunk, jet 
after jet, into her ass. It was some climax.

As soon as I felt the last spurt leave my prick I eased 
the rubber band away from her neck and tugged the 
rubber sac off her head. What made it much more 
surprising was that Clare's hair came off in the bag, 
all of it, revealing a head as bald as my own and 
exhibiting that type of baldness that had been 
depilated rather than being a medical condition. 

Something to be dealt with later. For some moments all 
Clare could do was draw great, rasping gulps of air 
into her lungs. I felt my prick detumescing and 
withdrew it as quickly as I could, anxious to get the 
anaesthetic suppository into her before she started to 
leak my jism. That done, I let robe fall over my shit-
stained prick and set about releasing her.

'Treatment's finished now, Madam,' I said. 'How do you 
feel?'

'Funny enough,' Clare giggled, making herself cough, 'I 
swear that I felt as though some great monster came and 
fucked me, front and back, while I was taking the 
treatment. Did you make me fall asleep? It was a very 
real dream. Oh, and I dreamed that somebody covered my 
head with a rubber bag...' her eyes fixed on the sac 
still lying on the bed, '...just like that, in fact.' 
She moved until she was sitting on the side on the bed, 
still shivering. 'It was all very strange...and very 
exciting.' She passed her hands over her bald head. 
'Oh, and all my hair seems to have fallen out.'

'Funny things happen in this room,' I confided, 
removing my own wig to reveal my hairless pate, 'It 
might be the atmosphere. By the way,' as an 
afterthought and holding out my wig, 'Do we need these? 
I find bare heads a real turn on,'

'Oh, yes,' she replied, laughing, 'Much sexier. And 
they have make-up all of their own. Yep, I'm all for 
it. Any other tricks we should know about each other?' 
I eased my dentures and – to my surprise – Clare did 
the same thing. 'Wow!' she exclaimed.

The wigs were cast aside, although the dentures 
remained...for the time being. 'Hadn't you better get 
into your play suit now? You get to be Nursie this 
time, and I'm the patient. No knicks, though, not yet.' 

'In a minute,' she replied, curiously. 'Penelope? Was 
that really your weapon that was fucking me? Or some 
dildo. It felt awfully large. It is?' Her hands reach 
for the hem of my robe, raising it slowly. 'May I?'

I nodded, and Clare continued as though she was lifting 
a veil that concealed some holy relic. Some relic! 
Although my penis was only semi-erect it still brought 
an 'Oh!' from her. One hand held the skirt high while 
her other cupped my balls, weighing them and moving my 
scrotum to feel them roll across her palm. That hand 
then grasped the base of my penis and squeezed it, 
pumping more blood into my prick and causing it to grow 
a little. She raised it a little and moved her head 
forward until her brow rested on my belly. 

I had given her asshole a thorough fucking and my prick 
was coated with her shit; that smell, together with her 
own odours made a powerful bouquet that we could both 
smell. Clare was getting it at strength ten and, 
judging by the force of her expelled breaths, taking 
delight in it. Then she moved my cock again and I felt 
her lips kiss it and her tongue tease that sensitive 
place where my foreskin joined my glans. 

Like any keen warrior it was eager for combat and 
started to swell again. Clare's lips slid over my 
glans, her jaws wide apart to keep her teeth out of the 
way, and the sensation of her tongue cleaning it of the 
filthy secretions that it had collected during it's 
sojourn in her bottom quickly brought me back for a 
full erection. At last she judged it clean and 
carefully withdrew it.

She looked up at me with an affectionate smile. 'I'm 
going to have a fuck of a job deep-throating this 
thing,' she declared, 'I shall have to practise on 
Rolly...or a fence post. Anyway, let me get into my 
costume. Nursie Penelope has gone off duty. I'm Nursie 
Clare...and I don't stand for any nonsense. First of 
all, where's that bloody hood?' She found the hood and 
extracted the rubber knicks she had been wearing when 
she arrived. 

'Useful gags knickers make, don't they?' Clare 
commented as she carefully wiped the shaft of my prick 
clean of all traces of her buggery. 'You're very lucky 
girl, Madam. Your gag will have an extra flavour, and a 
strong one. I'm sure you'll appreciate it. You'd 
better.' 

She laid the much soiled knicks in my kidney bowl. 
'Now, before I change into my uniform I must render you 
helpless. There have been occasions when patients have 
actually abused themselves while they watched me dress. 
I won't have any of that. I don't suppose you 
remembered to bring that piece of rope you were told to 
bring last time? I suppose not. Madam can be very 
naughty at times. You remember, the piece to match your 
belt, about thirty inches long?'

I loved the way that Clare managed to turn a question 
as to the whereabouts of lengths of rope into our game. 
She was truly a devotee of atmosphere. And there had 
been those hints that she did not see this as a one 
night stand. Not that I was worried: I had already 
given thought to ways of extending this weird occasion. 
I directed her to the rope and knelt with my body bent 
forward – and with my hands clasped across my breasts – 
while she pulled the skirt of my gown up over my torso 
until it was tight against my waist cord. She gathered 
the rubber around my neck and secured it with the cord. 
Once the rubber above the cord was spread out it made 
an effective straight jacket. Then she ordered me back 
to my feet and grabbed my erection, a wicked look in 
her eyes.

'Right dribbler, aren't you?' That was obvious, since 
there was the evidence on the inside – now the outside 
– of my robe, and on the floor.

She wanked me hard for a few moments and then drew her 
hands along my length and over my glans to collect my 
pre-cum. She held her glistening palms for me to see. 
'I can see that Madam's going to cause trouble, I'm 
afraid.' Nursie Clare was back. 'We'll have to contain 
that fluid. Perhaps Madam would like to help clean up 
the mess that she has made. Since we're busy, if you 
clean one, Nursie will clean the other.'

It took me a moment to gather the gist of Clare's 
intentions and then I started to lick at the pre-cum 
wetting one of her hands. She made an appreciative 
sound, a sound because – when I looked up – she was 
already engaged in cleaning the other hand. At last it 
was done and Clare wrapped herself around me in a cosy 
embrace. 'Oh, Penelope,' she sighed lustily, 'I do love 
the taste of pre-cum. Do you?'

I savoured the salty, astringent taste that filled my 
mouth. It was a unique taste, all to do with sex, lust 
and passion. My prick reared. 'Yes, I do,' I admitted. 
'It must have the same effect on women as your juices 
have of men. I'm lucky. I'm a bit of both so they both 
turn me on and...yes...it does taste nice.' That got me 
an extra hug and kiss. Then, once my prick had been 
sealed in a sheath, Clare settled me on the rubber 
covered sofa and set about dressing herself. I was 
interested to see how well Clare handled rubber and I 
was not disappointed: she was an expert. She powdered 
where she needed to and the black latex stockings were 
soon in place, taut and lovely.

'Who's Rolly?' I asked.

'My son. I've got a son and a daughter, both at uni so 
that limits our fun and games quite a bit. I'm very 
grateful that their halls of academia are at opposite 
ends of the country: there would be riots if they went 
to same place. We make up for it during the breaks, 
however,' she added with a chuckle. 'This will make a 
real hit at story time. Daughter's name is Sadie. Sally 
chose it, as her godmother, and has nurtured the 
concept ever since.'

'Sally? Sally who lives next door? And what's story 
time? I'm sorry, Clare. Every question I ask seems to 
produce two or three more.'

'Don't worry about it.' Clare reassured me with a 
smile. By this time most of her costume was in place 
and she was struggling to get her arms into latex 
gloves. Instinctively I knew better than to offer 
advice. Clare continued. 'Yes. Sally next door. My 
sister next door. She'll be at the next story telling, 
although you'll meet her before then.' She paused for a 
moment, considering something. 'Yes, I could make quite 
a drama out of this, if you'll cooperate.'

'Oh. I'll cooperate alright. But what's story time for 
God's sake?'

'That's when we all meet. There's several rituals to be 
observed and at one point one of us is chosen to tell a 
story. It can be real or made-up, it can even by a 
video... if it's very good... but everybody's listening 
to it, getting their rocks off and, finally, judging 
it. Nasty things happen to a poor story teller, and 
good ones, too, for that matter.' It was my turn to 
make an 'O' of a mouth. The gloves were proving 
something of a problem: Clare pulled them down and re-
powdered her arms. She glanced my way and laughed. 'You 
look like a fish with your mouth open like that. Close 
it, there's a dear.'

'Purely as a matter of interest, are all your family 
involved in this? Please don't tell if you don't want 
to.'

'I don't mind in the least... for as long as it takes 
me to get into this fucking ornamented party dress. 
After that, Nursie's back. How many? Pretty well all of 
us, I suppose. Those that are left, that is. Once a 
year there's the family fest that every body has to 
attend; with our relations from the States and Europe, 
and adoptees, there were twenty-four last year.'

'And an adoptee is someone like myself who isn't a 
blood relation but can contribute to the family idea?'

'Yep. Want to apply?'

I paused. 'What's the fees?'

'Very little,' Clare replied, settling her mop cap on 
her head, 'Not much at all...only your soul, in the 
sense of total commitment to our – your - family. Still 
interested?'

I could only nod, and then Nursie was back. 'Now, 
Madam, shall we proceed?'

She led me to the bed and, at first, made me kneel on 
it. My prick, still sheathed, hung from my belly like a 
stallion's. 'Since you've ejaculated once already, 
Madam, will you be able to control yourself this time?'

'I'll try, Nursie,' I muttered.

She gripped my cock and started to wanked me again, 
long hard strokes that always got my pre-cum juices 
flowing. After several minutes of that she stopped and 
peeled off the sheath, holding it up for the contents 
to collect in the teat. She congratulated me, and so 
she should for the teat and a further half inch of 
condom will filled with my lubrication.

'That should do splendidly,' she said, 'You are a very 
lucky girl to have such a mixture of flavours on your 
gag. Let me see, there's Nursie's cum juices, excrement 
from her asshole and now even some of your own pre-cum. 
I hope you enjoy it. We must make sure you don't 
swallow it and choke, though.'

With that she took up one of her discarded stockings 
and deftly split the leg apart until the split reached 
the heel. Taking up the soiled rubber panties she 
forced them into the toe of the stocking and then 
dribbled most of my pre-cum over them. The rest, a teat 
full, she laid to one side and the gag joined the other 
items in the kidney bowl. 

'Nursie's treat,' she explained, pointing to the 
sheath. My legs were soon fixed to the movable rail, as 
Clare's had been although, if anything, the rod was 
closer to the head of the bed and more of my bum was 
exposed. She gathered the material above the cord that 
held my bondage tube in place, remarking that there was 
enough, almost to cover my head, and adding that she 
could always glue it on. Instead, she folded it back 
with the observation that she might have a use for it 
later.

'Now, Madam,' Nursie resumed, 'Since I'm a visitor to 
this place, perhaps Madam would direct me to some items 
that I require. I'm sure that Madam had much more 
experience. First of all, where are the light switches. 
I hate working in the dark.'

Soon my den was flooded with light. Again, it wasn't a 
matter that bothered me; I'd designed the place to 
serve every taste and the bright lighting emphasised 
the treatment room aspect. Although Clare asked 
directions in some cases, she was taking a good old 
browse, casing my joint. In every case where she asked 
for directions, it was to a multiple-choice location. 
Whatever she collected was deliberately concealed from 
me and when she laid it on the bed it was out of my 
range of vision. I had already explained how to dull 
the overhead mirror tiles.

Nursie Clare's collecting and inspecting complete, she 
lifted the malodorous gag. Once the gag was in place at 
the foot of the stocking she knotted the torn ends of 
the split stocking and then came to stand at the head 
of the bed. 'Open wide!' she said, and the filthy gag 
was stuffed into my mouth; the tails of the stocking 
leg were wrapped around my head and knotted over my 
mouth. 'There!' she exclaimed, 'Doesn't that taste just 
wonderful?' I nodded emphatically. 'Good,' she said and 
then added maliciously, 'Madam doesn't have any option, 
does she. Now, it Madam would raise his head again...'

Madam did, and Clare pulled the other black stocking 
over my head, the partner to the one that was gagging 
me, tugging it until it reached my neck. Restricted 
vision, but not as depriving as the rubber hood and, of 
course, I could still breathe. I suspected that Nursie 
had plans and didn't have long to wait before a sharp 
pain cut across my buttocks, making me jump and protest 
through my nose. 

The minx must have held the ruler close to me at one 
point and drawn the other end back before releasing it: 
that would explain any warning swish! to prepare me. 
And, before the heat of the first blow had dissipated, 
the next one seared me in a different place. My snorts 
of protests became groans of pain.

'How many times did Madam take advantage of Clare when 
Clare was undergoing treatment?' Another blow. 'Five, 
was it?...' Yet another blow. '...or was it six. And 
how many have you had now? Three? I'm sorry, Madam, but 
the treatment prescribes ten in your case. Here they 
come!'

Clare counted out loud each time that the ruler slashed 
across my ass, and I was heartily glad when she called 
out 'Ten!' That ruler was eighteen inches long and made 
of very bendy plastic. She did, however, kiss each 
burning cheek several times and, in passing, slobbered 
over my testicles and drove her tongue into my asshole. 
Then she held up the 'suppository positioner' she had 
chosen, an enema nozzle bizarrity with one inflator bulb
to increase the size of the plug once it was in place, but 
also another one that expanded two rubber sacs – one at 
each end of the rectum. 

There were other bits to it, too, but they were of less 
pith and I wondered why she was busily unrolling a 
sheath over it. I guessed it was for the lubrication 
provided: Nursie Clare told me that it was to stop me 
getting pregnant. Then Clare parted my ass cheeks with 
one hand and I felt the cold wetness touch my asshole 
and – automatically – I strained out. The fat supp slid 
in easily, right to the limits of Clare's fingers, and 
then the tip of the rubber prick touched my still 
straining hole.

In its un-inflated state, the enema nozzle dildo was large, 
as large as a good sized penis. Even so, the bulbous 
glans was soon inside my rectum and Clare obviously 
knew exactly how to plug a butt. The minx even had a 
good idea of the position of my prostrate and paused at 
that point to inflate the dildo, grasping my prick with 
her free hand to feel the frantic surges as my body 
demanded relief. There was another surge of excitement 
as it penetrated my shit, all the while driving the 
suppository deeper into me. 

That, of course, was the whole point of 'positioning': 
a supp only finger-deep will produce a dribble before 
the real stuff starts to emerge while a 'positioned' 
supp - positioned deep in my excreta – produces much 
more natural results. Clare leaned back to inspect her 
handiwork, one of the inflator bulbs in each hand.

'Is Madam comfortable?' she asked, 'No nasty thoughts 
or actions? No? Good. Now we'll proceed to the exact 
placing.' 

Which was what she did, using the bulbs alternately to 
inflate the rings inside and outside of me, and then 
lengthen and fatten the rubber prick. When she was 
satisfied she placed a couple of the rubber pillows on 
the cot mattress beneath my buttocks, unfastened my 
ankles, and removed the bar...only to secure them with 
rubber straps attached to the end on the bed. The 
pillows arched my back so that my erection stood up 
like a flag pole. The highest part of my body, and 
throbbing for release. Then the head stocking was 
removed and Clare drew the rubber bag over my head, 
pulling it down until it rested on the bridge of my 
nose.

'Very well, Madam, we've now reached the final part of 
this stage of your treatment. It is most important that 
you do exactly as I say.' As she climbed astride my 
body, facing me, Nursie Clare's words were belied by 
her actions. She let the skirts of her dress and slip 
fall to covered our lusts and then reached under them 
to grasp and position my cock against the entrance to 
her vagina, an action so perverse that I almost lost 
control. Clare responded immediately, releasing my 
prick until I had restored my equilibrium, meanwhile 
giving further instructions. 

'Madam will have to exercise control during this latter 
stage, definitely not seeking release until she is told 
to. Otherwise she may never have the use of her ankle 
again. Do you understand?' I nodded. 'And are you under 
control again?' I nodded again, and then felt her 
swollen sex lips encompass my glans as she impaled 
herself upon me. She couldn't help making the most un-
nurse-like little cries and gasps of pleasure, matched 
by my nasal grunts of delight: her cunt was soft and 
smooth, pulsing with her own demands and her cunt 
muscles flexing over me. 

And, of course, my prick was further teased by the 
enema nozzle plug in my ass. When her buttocks finally
rested on my thighs she reached for the edge of the hood. 
'Take a deep breathe.' She ordered, and when I had done 
so she pulled the latex hood down over the rest of my 
head until the elasticated opening nestled around my 
throat.

Suffocation time.

And, amazingly, Clare didn't move. I waited for her to 
adjust her position to start riding me, but nothing. 
Then I felt the gentle ripple of her vaginal muscles as 
they moved in sequence along the length of my prick. 
Only when the rings had hugged my glans did they start 
at the bottom once again, this time more forcefully. It 
was an absolutely wonderful sensation, even better than 
being deep throated, and amid all the cortical surges 
that fed my growing orgasm I realised that this woman 
had total vaginal control. 

I was fighting hard to control that orgasm, and gasping 
for what little air remained in my hood: Clare had 
already lifted the material away from my nose on a 
couple of occasions. I could see no more that a dim 
outline of her – mainly derived of colours – but I 
could hear her sounds of pleasure and feel the wild 
motion of her hips. Then came the final squeeze that I 
knew would carry us both 'over the top'.

'Now!' Clare screamed, 'This time, you bastard! Don't 
fuck up!'

Each muscle ring clamped my erection tightly before 
relinquishing the task to the next in line. Clare had 
become frozen, but I could feeling another shuddering 
that shook her cunt; our orgasms held us in thrall. I 
could not breath but, somehow, that distress was 
channelled into my lusts. 

This orgasm was so slow, like the breaking of a huge 
wave: it was like nothing that I had ever experienced 
before... waiting for the final ring of muscles to grip 
my glans and turn me into that rolling wave. My vision 
started to darken and I was already hyperventilating. I 
wondered it I would stay conscious for the climax. 
Clare was keening, the pitch rising with each change of 
muscles. And then we were there and the final cluster 
of muscles closed around me to receive spurt after 
spurt of my semen. My last recollection was of Clare's 
screams of delight – and, inconsequentially, a fervent 
hope that the neighbours were good sleepers.

As usual, I was unconscious for no more that a minute 
or so and once Clare had removed the hood and gag I was 
breathing immediately. She was still sitting on my 
hard-on, using those wonderful muscles to maintain it 
in that state.

She gave me a wide grin, happy and satiated, with a 
'Thank You' formed on her lips. Clare wasn't fazed out 
by her orgasms: they were something to be enjoyed and 
while the atmosphere was the foreplay, there was little 
time allowed for post-coital caresses. Or the little 
death. Now was time to relax. The was a hiss of air as 
the enema nozzle valves were released and there was a
strange sensation of loss as the butt-plug deflated. Clare 
removed it, jammed the sleepy supp in place, and helped 
me to my feet, loosening the rope holding my skirt 
around my neck. The rubber swept over me and I 
stretched my arms, lowering them gently over the woman 
who had moulded herself to me as I stretched. I could 
feel that she was still trembling slightly against me, 
just as I was doing to her. We had, after all, just had 
a couple of cosmic climaxes.

'Surgery closed?' she asked.

'Not by any means,' I replied and holding out the 
rubber knicks, her whites in my right hand, mine in my 
left. 'We've still got to apply the dressings, then 
there's the feeding routine before the treatments take 
effect.'

'Either?' Clare asked. I shook my head and offered the 
pair in my right hand. Clare examined them closely. She 
held the waistband against her own waist: that would 
certainly be a tight fit, as would the bands that would 
encircle her thighs. Then she peered inside and gave a 
cry of surprise. 'Penelope!' she exclaimed, 'What a 
perfectly wonderful idea. Where did you get them?'

I preened an imaginary ring against my chest. 'I 
invented them, actually,' I smirked, 'And my rubber 
tailor will make them for you...but only if I say so.'

'Meanie! Are yours the same?'

'Pretty much, only mine are red. The idea of the long 
legs is for us to roll our stockings over the knicker 
legs to seal them.'

Clare looked calculatingly at me, weighing her next 
question carefully. I just knew what it was going to 
be. 'Sealed? Sealed against what?'

'Ah...well...bodily fluids was what I had in mind. 
We've still got a date for dinner and I thought we 
might watch some videos while we were eating. We'll get 
a change to see the promo video of Rubber Discipline 
Hall. It kills time until you're ready for the rest of 
your treatment.'

Clare struck a thoughtful pose. 'Just let me think,' 
she pondered. 'Would our late dinner comprise mainly of 
roughage and fluid, perhaps?'

'One does need fibre to feed these treatments. You've 
forgotten the medicine, though.'

'Medicine?'

'Half a bottle of powerful and fast-acting laxative in 
each serving...where the bottle size is 400 milligrams 
and the recommended dose is 20 milligrams...'

'...Which sounds about right to me.' Clare nodded and 
stepped into her knickers. 'I've just discovered this 
terrible appetite.' She admitted, grinning. 

I donned mine, letting her see – by example – how she 
should roll the tops of her stockings down her thighs, 
pull the knicker legs down towards her knees and then 
roll the stockings back up over them. If she already 
knew about that system – and I suspected that she did – 
Clare made a good show of pretending to learn. 
Privately, I think that she just liked my show. She 
tucked the waistband of her knicks under that of her 
tunic, mine vanished under my rubber corset and, in my 
case, six suspenders held my stockings taut, the tops 
drawn nearly into my groin.

'That high?'

'As high as you can get them, and let the loose rubber 
flow over them. Now, shall we eat?' I asked as I drew 
the curtain aside to admit her to the diner. 
'Incidentally, your treatment notes prescribe forced 
feeding.'

I could see at once that there was something occupying 
Clare's mind. She fenced, asking if we could try the 
inbuilt gloves. I refused, and she countered by asking 
me how I proposed to 'feed' her. I pointed to the 
fluids trolley, hung with a large pink rubber bag with 
a rubber pipe set in the base of the sac and folded 
back into it. The wheel chair was beside it, complete 
with all that trappings that would hold 'baby' firmly 
in place, and securing her hands and feet to boot. The 
thick rubber straps that held various other parts of 
the body were there to torment. The usual seat had been 
replaced with a toilet seat and some slides underneath 
it allowed for a variety of containers from a bowl to a 
Skye bag. 

'Looks interesting,' she admitted, 'I'm tempted.' She 
considered for a moment. 'No,' she said at last, 'Not 
this time. Not that I don't want lots of goes on it. I 
do, but I'd like to chat over supper. Do you mind?'

'Not in the least,' I replied. 'Mainly 'cos it's part 
of the treatment, one of the most important parts. You 
don't really have any choice.'

For a moment Clare seemed on the verge of rebellion and 
I wondered if I'd overplayed my hand. 'You really are 
something special, Nurse,' she admitted admiringly and 
she gave an eloquent shrug. 'Well, if its part of the 
treatment then we'd best get on with it. I'm feeling 
quite peckish, as it happens.' I watched her glance 
around the area. There were no windows in my playroom. 
'What time is it?' she asked, 'I feel as if I've been 
here for hours.'

'Does it matter?' I asked. 'Time doesn't happen in this 
room. I've no idea myself. Why? Do you want to call a 
halt? I'd be sorry if you did.'

Clare gave a throaty chuckle. 'What, and miss out on 
the rest of this? Not on your nelly. Very well, Nursie, 
what happens now?'

I steered her towards the chair, helping her settle 
herself into it. And making sure that her slit was held 
open by passing a broad leather strap over each thigh 
and buckling them tight. The straps were threaded 
around the edges of the seat and Clare's thighs were 
pulled to the edge. Other straps held her arms to the 
chair arms and I placed her feet on the steps and 
secured them in the same manner. I let her watch me 
make up the huge bowl of cereal for myself and then mix 
up hers in a mixer until it would be easy enough for 
her to swallow. The I added the magic ingredient to 
both and, after lifting her dummy from the rubber bag, 
emptied hers into it. It was quite a lot.

'Enough?' I asked, and Nurse Penelope asked, 'I trust 
Madam is comfortable?'

Clare grinned. 'Are you being funny?' she asked. 'Of 
course I'm comfortable ...not. I suppose you've got a 
little girls' apron for me?'

Funnily, that was just what I did have and, once I had 
tied it in place, I thought that she looked quite cute. 
A pair of fingerless rubber mittens encircled her hands 
and were fastened in place. 'Just in case Madam slops 
her food,' I remarked sarcastically, approaching her 
with the feeding nozzle. 'Open wide! It's feeding 
time!'

I needn't have bothered. Clare already had her mouth 
stretched wide open.

The feeder was a rather strange device, another of my 
inventions. The tube from the rubber bag had an 
internal diameter of half-an-inch and at the delivery 
end passed through an elliptical rubber pad about 4 
inches on the long axis and 2 on the short. The tube 
protruded a further inch beyond the rubber plate and 
ended in a soft plastic rim, something like a 
nipple...where the goodness came from. There were two 
clamps on the tube – one at the top and another just 
before.

One last item was the bulb of a hand pump 'in case 
Madam needed encouragement' as I explained to Clare. I 
released the top valve and then the lower one, waiting 
for Clare's dinner to arrive; all the air in the pipe 
would take up valuable stomach space. The mixture 
quickly made its way along the tube and I sealed the 
tube just as the last air emerged. Then it was fitting 
time. The two “wings” of the rubber plate went between 
Clare's cheeks and her teeth and the nipple into her 
mouth. A simple leather strap buckled behind her bald 
head to hold the contraption in place.

'Any problems?' I asked. I had no wish for the poor 
woman to expire on my premises. Clare shook her head 
and I could see that she was already swallowing. I sat 
beside her on a low stool and kicked the 50 cm plasma 
screen into life. I selected a particularly filthy, 
depraved film and set it running. And, yes, the fact 
that I featured in it did influence my choice. Nor was 
my choice of eating unplanned: I was sitting lower than 
Clare which gave me the opportunity to fondle and 
caress her sex, to her obvious satisfaction. Well, she 
did have two orgasms, what with the depravity on the 
screen and my manipulations.

Eventually our meals were finished – I was surprised 
that Clare consumed all of hers – and I removed her 
gag/feeder.

'Drink?' she asked hoarsely. I had a can of lager to 
hand, with a straw, and I held it to her lips as she 
drank thirstily. Then she moved her mouth away from the 
straw and gave me a lovely smile. 'Well,' she said, 
'This girl's had some weird meals in her time but never 
one as weird as that. The floorshow was good, too.' She 
looked at me for a moment, musing. 'Were you a 
volunteer or were you forced? There were times when I 
wasn't sure.'

'In a manner of speaking, I was forced,' I replied, 
'But that's another story.' I cleared away and then 
loosened Clare's bonds and helped her to her feet. Her 
first act was to reach under her skirt.

  'Bloody Hell!' she exclaimed, 'Feel this!' She 
grabbed my hand and thrust it between her legs. She had 
a right to boast: there was quite a deep pool of her 
sex juices collecting in the gusset of her rubber 
knickers.

'I fear the Madam is still excessively excited,' Nurse 
Penelope interrupted. 'Perhaps she should return to the 
treatment area at once where these urges can be 
controlled.'

And Madam led the way, having no idea of what still lay 
in store for her.

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 55