The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 2
February 13th
Dear Diary,
I got tired of writing last night. Here is the rest of the story of how I
was... reborn, I guess you could say, as a new sex toy for my husband. I think
it's getting easier to write about all this, since I seem to be getting a bit
more glib, and taking the whole thing a little less seriously than I used to.
When I got outside, I was suddenly blind. I had forgotten one important fact
about the night time. It's dark at night, dummy! The smoked lenses in the
helmet kept me from seeing anything except the lamp posts glowing on either side
of the driveway. I stood there in bewildered frustration for quite a while,
until I realized my eyes were gradually adjusting to the dark. After what
seemed like an hour, but was probably only a quarter of that, I could not only
see well enough to strut my way to the car, but I felt confident that with the
headlights on, I'd be able to drive safely. (Fortunately, I turned out to be
right.)
Walking to the car was an adventure, as the mercury filled plugs inside me
wiggled and squirmed again, practically driving me to climax before I even got
into the car. But if I thought that was bad, the trip to the lab was even
worse, or better, depending on how you look at it. Ever since we moved out to
the country to be closer to the lab, I have asked Jurgen repeatedly to have the
road graded, since the bumps and pot-holes make me crazy whenever I have
anything like Ben Wa balls or these dildos inside me. And that night wasn't the
first time for that. My dear husband delights in equipping me in all sorts of
garments and toys that he knows will keep me nearly mad with desire, and then
driving into town for dinner at some fancy restaurant. So far, he has refused
to have our road graded, the rascal. I think he takes sadistic pleasure in
seeing me incoherent with arousal and sometimes even public orgasms. I both
hate and adore those outings. But I'm getting sidetracked again.
This time I was driving, and it wasn't easy concentrating on the road. Just as I
was deciding that I wasn't going to make it there alive, I came to the end of
the driveway. The paved road that goes past the lab was much easier to take,
with only the occasional sharp turn to distract my innards, and I made the rest
of the trip without mishap.
I drove through the open gate, wondering briefly whether they did any secret
work here. There certainly wasn't any security in evidence.
As I approached the main building where my husband's lab was, I saw more than
one lighted office, and I hoped that he really was alone. I wasn't really
ashamed of how I was dressed, but I knew that it would cause Jurgen a great deal
of embarrassment if we were discovered by his coworkers.
I found him in a brightly lit room filled with the equipment he had so proudly
demonstrated only a few months ago. He looked up with an irritated look at the
sound of my boots clicking on the tiles, but that look instantly changed to one
of surprise and delight as he took in the sight of my tightly corsetted, booted,
helmeted, and shining form.
"Good God! Diana! What are you doing here?" He stood up from the instruments
he had been staring at and looked me slowly up and down. He whistled.
I basked in his lusty gaze, and would have smiled inside the mask, if my mouth
hadn't been stuffed full of rubber.
"So, the suit came, and you just couldn't wait to show it off, eh?" he asked. I
nodded. He held out his arms to me. I stalked over to him slowly, faltering
only once on the towering stilettos.
"God, I could look at you for days," he said, running his hands over my tightly
corsetted torso, my hips, my bulging breasts.
"It fits beautifully," he added, "Jeanne and William do wonderful work, don't
they?"
I nodded vigorously in agreement.
"And you are gagged, I suppose?" he asked. He caressed my swollen cheeks,
licked his lips. He knew how aroused I had to be inside my rubber and steel
prison.
I nodded again, and moaned, partly for his benefit, and partly because I needed
to.
He felt between my legs. "And what do you have down here? Ah, the sheaths...
but there's something inside... your fancy dildos?"
I nodded.
"The mercury filled ones?" I nodded again.
He wiggled his hand vigorously, briefly, eliciting another heartfelt moan from
me.
"Jesus," he said, "How am I going to get any work done now? You look just
fabulous, as always, but... good lord, this outfit is incredible. I can't wait
to get you home!"
A wistful look came into his eyes.
"But damn! I can't go home yet, I just can't! I promised the financial people
a demonstration in the morning, and I'm still having some problems. Damn. Damn,
damn, damn."
He continued to stare at me though, as if I were some fetishistic angel that
might disappear at any moment.
I piroutted before him, showing him every angle, knowing I looked hot, fully
aware of the effect I was having on him, and loving it. And I knew that while a
skin-tight outfit of patent leather or latex was his biggest turn-on, the fact
that it was ME inside was what drove his lust over the edge. He might be the
dominant in our relationship, but I can still manipulate him until he is weak in
the knees.
His hands were around my waist, his fingers fumbling at the back lacing.
"Ah, you've locked the corset on? Where is the key?"
"Mm-hmm" I said around the gag. I pointed over my shoulder for emphasis.
"In the car?"
I shook my head.
"At home."
I nodded.
He grinned.
"Damn. You just wait until I get you home! I am going to put you through your
paces like never before! I wish I could take you home right now! But hon, I'm
really sorry, but I CAN'T leave yet. Not until I've got this bug worked out.
You understand, don't you?"
I made soft mewling sounds, and squirmed my hips. The dildos wiggled inside me
and an aroused moan got added on involuntarily.
"Ah, hmmm," he said then. "Well, I suppose a _short_ break wouldn't hurt. In
fact, I ought to just take you right here. You know, I don't have to undress
you..."
I could see his libido doing battle with his desire to fix his technical
problem, whatever it was, by morning.
"Mmm?" I said softly, leaning into him and pressing my breasts into his chest.
Like most men, he has a thing for tits. It was all the encouragement he needed.
"Okay, that's it! Come on." He turned me round, pinned my arms behind my back
(to my delight) and marched me out the door, down the hall, and into his office.
He closed and locked the door and swept his desk clean, papers and books flying
in all directions.
"Bend over," he commanded, his voice husky with desire. I grinned inside my
mask. He was really out of control. It was a good thing that I had let him
talk me out of a longer corset section, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to
comply. With this design, while my torso was quite rigid, I could at least bend
at the hips. I bent over the desk.
"Spread," he said, placing his hand on my back and bearing down. I spread my
legs wide, having a little trouble as my heels tried to dig into the carpet. I
got them free, and my chest and hips thumped down against the desk top. I
gasped as the blow on my tit rings sent a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure
through my chest. Between the trip here with those plugs rattling inside me and
the treatment I was getting now, I wasn't just ready, I was on fire with need.
I felt an indication of my readiness dribble slowly down my leg, trapped under
the rubber.
He fumbled in my crotch, and soon had the caps off, and with a bit more work, he
got the dildos out. There was no way he would be able to remove the sleeves
from the outside, but that didn't seem to bother him. He stuck his hand down
the neck of the suit, and pulled it back coated with slime. He lubed up the
inside of the sleeves, pressing one finger, then two, inside me. I heard faint
rustlings through the hood, (he had pulled off his lab coat), a thud, (he had
dropped his trousers), and then I gasped as a soft but insistent heat pressed
into me, filling me to capacity.
I have often wondered whether I might have married Jurgen just for his cock. He
could never be mistaken for a porn star with his wiry, almost scrawny build, but
he was certainly well endowed in the manhood department, not too large, but just
right as far as I was concerned. And to the sex authors who insist that size
doesn't matter, I say phooey! A big penis may not be critical, but it certainly
is a nice bonus if the owner knows how to use it. And after our years of
practice, my darling certainly does! He's also adept at using his hands and his
mouth to send me into orbit. He told me once he had read up on sex before we
got married. Whatever.
He rammed that magnificent rod of his into me in one stroke, knowing I was as
ready as I would ever be. I nearly fainted from the pressure and sensation that
shot out from my pelvis. There on his desk, me a picture out of any fetishists
wet dream, him looking like the "Nerd" posters you used to see in joke shops, he
took me with a wild abandon, pounded me mercilessly, as he hadn't done in
months. It was a short trip for both of us, due in large part to the suit, no
doubt, my appearance driving him crazy with desire, and the sensations induced
by the outfit doing the same thing to me. We came within ten seconds of each
other, and his seed was so hot, and there was so much of it, I could feel it
even through the latex sheath inside me. I screamed against the desk, my cries
muffled by the hood and gag. I was still coming hard even as he slowed his
strokes, his own spasms growing less urgent. I resolved right then and there to
wear this suit at every opportunity.
If only I had known...
Afterwards, I stood against the wall, because it was more comfortable than
sitting down, and he sat on the edge of the desk, both of us sipping Cokes from
the machine down the hall. It's our little post-copulatory ritual, since
neither of us smokes. Sometimes we drive immediately into town for ice cream.
There are few things better after sex than ice cream.
I worked my jaw, still a little bit sore after having the pump gag removed.
Pump gags never bother me when I have them in, it's afterwards that my jaw
hurts.
"You know I'm going to have to get back to work soon," he said quietly. He
examined his pop can carefully, not wanting to look me in the eye.
I nodded, and my heart sank a little, since I knew he would stay at the lab all
night if he had to. He was too much of a perfectionist to show off his toys in
anything less than perfect working order. But then I brightened up again,
thinking about spending the night, perhaps the entire next day, locked into the
suit, waiting for his return. My heart beat a little faster, and I smiled,
although he probably couldn't tell through the mouth hole of the helmet.
"I know," I said. "It's okay. That was great, I mean it!" And I did mean it.
"Will you be okay?" he asked, looking up finally, his love and concern for me
practically glowing behind his eyes.
"I'll be fine. Do what you need to do."
I decided he wasn't going to get off lightly, though.
"I'll be waiting for you, in bed, whenever you do get home. And I'll still be
locked into this suit! At least now I won't go insane with lust, waiting for
you to get home, hee-hee!"
"Okay. I guess. But hey! I'm forgetting the big news! Come on, I've got
something to show you!" He headed for the door before I stopped him by pointing
out that he was still bare from the waist down. While my absent-minded genius
put his pants back on, I collected the various parts of my suit that had been so
hurriedly tossed around the room. I had a feeling I'd want them when I got
home.
"So have you named this monstrosity yet?" I asked when we got back to the lab.
I wanted to get his mind back on his work, since I knew the sooner he solved it,
the sooner he would be home.
"I suppose. Siegfried calls it the Direct Structural Modification machine, or
DSM. By structural, we're talking about molecular structure, of course. It's
not very romantic, but it's descriptive."
"And what's the problem?"
"Oh. It's not a big problem really, I'm just rigging up some fancy displays so
I can explain to the bean-counters just what a potential gold mine this project
is. But one of the displays is giving me funny readings. I think the trouble
is in the cables."
"So the machine is working better now?" I asked.
"Heh, heh, heh," he replied. He had that little-boy look of mischief that I
knew meant he had accomplished something he was very proud of.
"Oh boy, did we fix it! And we found out a lot of interesting things too.
Watch this!"
He grabbed a potted plant off the desk, and took it over to the machine.
I suppose I should describe this invention of his, not that it matters now. It
was really a hodge podge of cabinets and wires slung everywhere, not at all the
clean, high tech-looking sort of thing one sees in the movies. But having lived
with my husband for all these years has taught me that real science is almost
always messy.
There were three big cabinets that sat equally spaced around a turntable about a
foot tall and six feet in diameter. A big horn antenna on each of the three
cabinets pointed at the table. Off to one side was a long metal box with a
white panel that looked like ceramic, in one end. It also pointed at the table.
Jurgen put the plant on the turntable. There was already a pile of other items
on it. I looked around at the machinery. Indicators and lamps glowed
everywhere. I realized he had been in the middle of an experiment when I walked
in. Then I saw the rabbit in a cage, sitting on the turntable. I grabbed his
shoulder.
"Wha?" he said, startled.
"What's with the rabbit?" I demanded. Jurgen knew how strongly I felt about the
mistreatment of animals, no matter how important the experiment was supposed to
be.
"Don't worry. That's just the point I'm going to make. You know I wouldn't do
anything to hurt him. Trust me."
"I thought you said it used x-rays or something," I said, still not convinced.
"Yeah, that long box is the x-ray laser," he answered. "But the total dose is
way lower than what you'd get from a chest x-ray. Actually, that's one of the
most powerful X-ray lasers in existence, outside of maybe Lawrence Livermore
Labs, but their stuff is all secret. Anyway, the efficiency of x-ray lasers
stinks- they don't have much output."
I tried to stay out of the way while he prepared. The whole procedure took only
a minute. He flipped a switch, and the turntable started rotating. Then he
twisted a dial, pressed a button, and taking my hand, led me to the back of the
room. I noticed a large digital display in one of the instrument racks was
counting down from one minute.
"So, ah, is it safe to be this close?"
"So far as we can tell it is, but I rigged a timer, just in case. We're pretty
sure now that it's completely safe, but it never hurts to be careful."
When the counter reached zero, there was a brief, loud hum, followed by a soft
thud.
"What was that?" I asked, worried.
"The laser. Or rather, the laser power supply- it makes that sound when the
laser fires."
That was it. I couldn't see that anything had happened. I shot a curious look
at Jurgen, then realized he couldn't see my expression.
He had a big grin on his face. "Come," he said.
We walked over to the table. The bunny was still there, looking the same as it
had before. It wiggled it's nose at a piece of lettuce in the cage, but left it
alone.
One by one, Jurgen held up the other items for my inspection, saying nothing at
first, just grinning.
A thick metal rod, aluminum I think, appeared unchanged, until he bent it... far
too easily.
The potted plant appeared no different than before.
Likewise a glass ashtray.
But a piece of dry wood that had been sitting on the ashtray appeared to have
flowed and melted, without any evidence of heat or charring, and was now a
perfect molded copy of the ashtray underneath. And it still looked and felt
like wood, at least through my gloves. I sniffed it. It smelled like regular
old pine.
"Isn't that incredible?" exploded Jurgen. "And look at that rabbit, and the
plant. How old would you say that plant is?"
I was worried, I had never seen him look so agitated.
I looked at it. It was just a garden variety petunia, the sort that withers in
a few weeks.
"A week?" I suggested.
"No! That fucking flower is over six months old," he crowed. "It's the very
first thing we exposed. And guess when we watered it last?"
I shrugged.
"We never have." He held the pot out to me. The plant was stuck into a piece
of foam, the roots splayed out against the bottom of the pot. No soil. I
shivered. Was he pulling my leg?
"But you can see that it's thriving! Here, smell it- it's real. We checked it
under a microscope, sent samples to a botany lab. They called back, wanting to
know what the hell we had sent them- they said the cells were functioning at a
normal rate, but they weren't deteriorating as fast as they normally do. It's
alive, and not just preserved, but it is aging very slowly, and IT ISN'T GETTING
ANY OF IT'S USUAL NUTRIENTS, EXCEPT LIGHT!."
"Right," I said, "so what's keeping it alive?" I was skeptical, but His
excitement was infecting me.
"That's just it, we don't know."
"And the rabbit?"
"That rabbit didn't eat or drink anything for six weeks after the first time we
exposed it! At first we thought it was sick but we checked it out, and it's
fine- hasn't even lost weight or eliminated waste! It's biologically
impossible, but it's true. Somehow, the metabolism of the plant and the rabbit
have been drastically altered. But with no harmful effects that we can find.
And for some reason, the machine has entirely different effects on living things
than on inanimate objects. We haven't got a clue what's happening here, but
I'll tell you this: it's big- very big."
I was astounded. At first I thought he might be putting me on, but the look in
his eyes was unmistakable. Then in spite of my awe at what he had accomplished,
I was seized with a funny thought.
"It'd make a hell of a dietary method."
"Heh-heh," he laughed nervously. "Right. None of us has been brave, or maybe
foolish is the word... anyway, brave enough to go that far. Even though we've
run a few primates through it; spider monkeys, chimps, that sort of thing. We
can't find _any_ evidence of neural dysfunction, brain damage, or anything else
wrong, just that impossible metabolism. But we're a long way from trying it on a
human."
"You could try it on me," I suggested, in my best bimbo voice.
"Yeah, right," he shot back, "and how do you think I'd feel if it turned you
into guacamole?"
"You'd probably feel like taking a ah, DIP," I said.
"AUGH! Silence woman, before I put that gag back into use."
I fingered the pump gag where I'd hung it around my neck. "Promises, promises,"
I sighed.
"You're incorrigible," he accused with a smile. "Anyway, while it doesn't seem
to have harmed the test animals so far, it does have very different effects on
different materials. Oh! I wanted to see what it does to latex! I brought one
of your old stockings with me... it's in the car. Wait here a minute!"
He trotted towards the door. "And don't touch anything," he shouted over his
shoulder.
I was left standing in front of the turntable, my thoughts a jumble of fantastic
possibilities and wild fantasies.
And then... I don't know what came over me. I don't know what I was thinking.
But he'd said that it didn't hurt primates hadn't he? That part about not
eating though, that really interested me. And Jurgen wouldn't have to know. I
could do it and be done long before he could get all the way down to the parking
lot and back. I guess I'm not really as smart as I think I am. Without really
thinking about it, I pulled everything off the turntable, turned the timer knob
down to fifteen seconds, pushed the start button, and stepped clumsily onto the
slowly rotating platform.
I stood there waiting, watching the room turn around me, while the clock counted
down. I remembered that old movie The Fly, where the scientist gets horribly
disfigured by trying his machine on himself. I began to have second thoughts.
I looked at the digital clock as it came into view. Six seconds. Just as I was
deciding to back out, I spotted Jurgen walking down the hall. He saw me at the
same time I saw him.
"Diana, NO!" he shouted, breaking into a run, but it was too late for both of
us.
I heard a buzzing sound, and felt a wave of tingling warmth spread though my
body. It felt wonderful! I can't describe it. It was like... oh, I don't
know, I don't think there are words good enough to describe it. It felt as
though I were being dipped in warm syrup perhaps, only better- my entire skin
had suddenly become as sensitive as my sex. At the same time, I was suddenly
acutely aware of all of the simulation I was receiving from the suit that I had
been trying to ignore... the constriction of my waist, the entire surface of the
suit stretched taught around my body, the arched shape that my feet were forced
into by the boots, all of this and more clamored for my attention
simultaneously. This incredible battery of sensations grew and grew until I
couldn't stand it, I thought I would explode, I thought I would die. As I
turned, I saw Jurgen running toward me, but in slow motion, as if he were
running through water.
I recognized the feeling that was building within me. It was an orgasm, but an
orgasm so intense, it frightened me out of my wits. I was immobilized, I
couldn't move a muscle, there was nothing I could do to stop what was coming.
So to speak. The sensations peaked, and the first wave of my climax broke over
me. I screamed with pure pleasure, as a white light seemed to fill the room,
and for one eternal moment, I thought I really had died, and perhaps was on my
way to heaven. I WAS bliss, I was ecstasy personified.
I passed out.
...to be continued in Part Three
