All parts of "The Accident" are (c) 1994,
William A. Lemieux. May be freely distributed by cybernetic
media, provided no fee is charged or profit gained. Hardcopies are
expressly forbidden without prior consent of the author. May not be
published or distributed otherwise without permission.
....... DISCLAIMER, DATCLAIMER, POLICY NOTICE AND DAMAGE WAIVER .........
. .
. While I appreciate the implied (and explicit) compliments, I simply .
. don't have time to accommodate requests for copies, chapters, etc. .
. .
. Any similarity between story characters and actual persons is .
. unintentional and purely coincidental... honest. The same goes for .
. any company names you might THINK you've seen before- pure chance. .
. After all, I would never stoop so low as to shamelessly plug a vendor .
. that I thought was particularly worthy, such as BR Creations, The .
. Stockroom, Remawear, or DeMask- no, that would never do. .
. .
. Note: this story may or may not include sex, bondage, discipline, .
. and other alternative forms of sexual expression. If the presence or .
. absence of a particular topic is likely to offend you, stop reading. .
. Criticism on technique (what little there is) and writing style are .
. welcomed by e-mail. Flames will be cheerfully ignored. .
. .
............................. cut here ..................................
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 1
February 12th
Dear Diary,
It's been a long time since I've written anything in your pages, but I feel like
I have to talk about this, and you're the only one I can tell. I have a feeling
this will be a very long entry.
I have only myself to blame, I suppose. Jurgen told me not to touch anything,
and even if he hadn't, common sense should have told me not to meddle with
things I don't understand. Or for that matter, things that even Jurgen doesn't
fully understand. Now I'm in a real fix. It's funny though. Now that I've
gotten used to it, I'm not even sure I want out of this "fix". But I'm probably
not making much sense. Let me start over at the beginning.
A little less than six months ago, Jurgen told me he had made a breakthrough at
the lab. I went out with him on the weekend, and he showed me what he'd been
working on. It had something to do with altering the molecular structure of
materials with directed energy instead of chemistry. I understood the intention,
but not the principles behind the equipment. I mean, I'm fairly smart, I have a
masters degree in anthropology, but I know when I'm out of my depth.
As Jurgen explained it, the machine bathed the test item in low level microwaves
while scanning a low powered x-ray laser across it at high speed. They had
discovered all sorts of bizarre effects on various materials, using various
frequencies of microwaves, but the effects were unpredictable, and they hadn't
figured out how to control them yet. I was impressed though, and I told him so.
We left later, went off to the art museum, I think. If only I had known then
how his work would affect my life!
The next part of the story came just last week. I had been in the kitchen
making myself a little snack. There was no point making dinner, since Jurgen
wouldn't be home until late. He was obsessively pursuing some new development
at the lab, and I knew he would probably ruin his appetite with junk food out of
the vending machines.
The doorbell rang, and with a suddenly racing heart, I KNEW what it had to be.
When I saw the heavy-looking parcel in the arms of the delivery man, my hopes
were answered.
I have written here many times about the joy Jurgen and I get from our bondage
games and fetishes. But I've never written down the details before. Why am I
embarrassed? It's not as if anyone will ever read these words. Okay... a
couple we know runs a company that specializes in elaborate and beautifully made
restrictive rubber and leather clothing, and Jurgen had ordered a custom made
latex bondage suit from them. Somehow, without even looking at the shipping
label, I knew it was finally here!
I signed for the parcel, and practically ran into the kitchen with it. With
trembling hands, I tore open the carton. We had ordered the suit over two
months ago, and I had been day-dreaming about it nearly every day since. I
dumped the contents onto the table, rustling folds of purple rubber spilling out
in a heap. As the familiar aroma of latex filled the room, I marvelled at the
almost overpowering effect it had on me. After years of playing all manner of
fetish and bondage games with Jurgen, I have come to associate that smell with
sexual pleasure, such that now the odor alone arouses me.
I laid it out on the table, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into it.
It was a full body suit of heavy gauge latex in a deep purple. There was no
zipper, since the suit was made for neck entry only. One of our favorite games
was to dump lubricant inside a water-tight catsuit so that it would slip and
slide around my body as I moved. A zipper would have allowed leaks, making a
mess.
The attached boots had six inch heels, and while they weren't exactly ballet
toes, they were half an inch higher than any other heels I owned. Walking in
them would be challenging, but not impossible. I'm going into a lot of detail,
aren't I? Well, despite what has happened, I still love the suit, and it has
given me such pleasure, that I think a certain fetishistic lingering over the
intimate details of the outfit are called for.
Jurgen had had a devilish idea for the bust. There were fitted breast cups of
course, but they were made from thinner latex, and sat over slightly smaller
holes in the chest of the suit. The outer cups had little bumps inside, to rub
against my nipples. My breasts would be squeezed through the holes in the heavy
rubber of the suit, holding them out and up, and they would bulge out like two
round melons, stretching the cups, the tight fit and little bumps making me
acutely aware of my nipples at all times.
There were gloves molded onto the sleeves, and quite a few heavy "D" rings
attached with reinforcing straps at strategic places. The crotch area was
fitted with some very nice accessories as well, but my favorite feature was the
corset section.
Made with two layers of rubber laminated with canvas and closely spaced steel
boning, it was an integral part of the suit. There was no busk of course, and
the back laces were attached to reinforced flaps on the outside, with another
flap that could be closed and locked over them, securing the suit on the wearer.
I remember insisting that Jurgen size it the same as my smallest dress corset.
He had suggested a more relaxed fit, since he planned to lock me into it for a
weekend, but had given in after I described in lurid detail how sexy I would
look wearing it. I recall that our love making the night we mailed the order
was especially intense.
We had ordered a custom helmet with it, but it was not attached, since my
husband wanted to be able to use different hoods with the suit, or even take me
out on the town wearing the outfit under my street clothes. The hood was made
with a wide stiffened flange that would make it secure once the neck of the suit
had closed over it. The eyes were covered with smoked acrylic lenses, so I
would be able to see, but dimly. The mouth was open, but could be closed with
any one of several plugs, gags, and so on, all of which snapped into a ridge
surrounding the opening.
I thought of how much the new suit would would excite him, and was immediately
struck by a mischievous idea. He had to work late at the lab, but nothing
stopped me from paying him a visit. I was pleased that his work had been making
so much progress, but we had had less time together as a result, and it had been
weeks since we had done anything more than plain vanilla sex. I knew he
wouldn't leave work until he was exhausted, but I was sure he wouldn't mind a
brief distraction if I stopped by wearing this! And if I waited until later
that night, the place would be deserted. They only had a handful of employees
anyway, and generally, my little genius was the the only one willing to work
late.
Once my mind was made up, I sprang into action, as they say in the cheap
adventure novels. I carried the heavy suit up to our play room, then took a
long hot shower, paying a little extra attention to my piercings, since they
would be abused somewhat by the tight suit as well as being steeped in sweat for
several hours.
I dried off as fast as I could- I was eager to feel the new outfit enclosing me
in it's intimate embrace. At least I didn't have to dry my hair. I'm not sure
whether I've mentioned this before... I have been completely depilated for
nearly as long as we have been married, so it didn't take long for me to get
dry. It's fortunate that Jurgen is well paid for his work. I had told him very
early on that while I was willing to give up my hair for him, I refused to shave
from head to toe every day. The electrolysis of my head, armpits, and other
areas had taken over a year and had cost a fortune!
I grabbed the silicone lubricant from the bedroom and headed for the play room.
Silicone is the best thing we have found for lubricating rubber, since it didn't
dry out or pool in the feet. I knew I'd need it, since the suit had been
designed for a very tight fit.
Before I started, I debated briefly about what to put in the crotch. The suit
had two large holes there, with thick molded collars. They could be left open,
or any of a host of custom accessories could be snapped into place, making a
watertight seal. A moments reflection told me that Jurgen wouldn't be likely to
want to make love right there in the lab. I opted for a pair of thin sheaths,
into which I pressed two of my most prized toys: a pair of large soft rubber
phalluses, each of which has a steel capsule inside, partly filled with mercury.
I didn't want to use vibrators because while they might be exciting at first,
I'd be numb after an hour or so. These plugs on the other hand, would wiggle
and vibrate only when I moved.
After installing the sleeves and the plugs inside the suit, I slathered the
thick, oily silicone all over the inside, and then spread a thin film over
myself as well. Wouldn't want to chafe, I told myself, suppressing a giggle.
Getting the suit on without help was a challenge. If the rubber had been any
thicker, I would never have gotten my feet into the boots. The neck was
reinforced, but even so, I worried that it might tear as I struggled to pull it
over my hips and get my arms and shoulders into it. I'm a big girl, not
overweight, in fact a little too slender Jurgen used to tell me, but I have an
ample bosom and a prominent, muscular derrier, so I had to work to get the neck
over them. I had to force my breasts through the holes by hand. The feeling as
they plopped through and my nipple rings hit the inside of the cups was
exquisite.
Finally, as the collar opening shrank against my neck, the plugs slid into me
suddenly and I gasped at being stuffed so full without warning. I held onto the
mirror for balance as a little wave of warmth swept through me. I wondered for
a moment whether the plugs I had chosen might be a little too large, but then
threw caution to the wind. I might not talk Jurgen into sex at the lab, but I
was definitely going to enjoy this night!
Now that I was fully dressed, I indulged in a moment of narcissism, standing
before the dressing mirror to admire myself. The fit was perfect! I couldn't
have asked for better. Even the fingers of the gloves fit snugly and without a
wrinkle, which is unusual.
I took a few tentative steps and found that I could walk without breaking my
neck, but I'd have to go slowly at first. While these heels were only a little
higher than the ones I wore almost every day, the effect on my balance was
significant. It would take time before I could walk in them as easily as my
regular shoes.
For a moment, I forgot about my mission, revelling in the tight feeling of the
second skin that encased me. I admit I got a little carried away and I found
myself digging my fingers into my crotch, kneading my breasts. I was thoroughly
turned on before I caught myself. With a struggle, I made myself stop, telling
myself to save it for Jurgen.
I turned my attention to the corset. Lacing it was easier than it would sound.
I think I have mentioned before that Jurgen built me a "lacing machine" after I
complained that I couldn't lace myself into any of my corsets without his help.
He's such a little inventor! Perhaps I should describe it. It's just two
little winches, mounted on opposite walls of the play room and hooked up to a
remote control. I just put one hook through each lace, thumb the button, and
they pull in opposite directions. The only hard part is that I have to back off
the winches, unhoook the laces, and do the final tightening and knot-tying
myself.
I watched in the mirror across the room as the machine slowly drew the corset
closed. I never grow tired of watching this fascinating process. What woman
WOULDN'T love to see her waist gradually shrinking before her eyes? As the
pressure on my abdomen built, I couldn't help wiggling a little. The dildos
filling me front and rear responded, and I gasped. I already knew I would have
to take it in steps. This corset was TIGHT! Even though I tight-lace on a daily
basis, I had to stop several times to rest and allow my poor torso to adjust.
After about half an hour, I finally had the laces closed, knotted, and concealed
beneath the locking cover. After only a few minutes, my abdomen became adjusted
and stopped hurting, although it was still slightly uncomfortable. I would
never have got it closed if I hadn't already been tight-lacing for years. And
tight? I was held rigidly erect. The rigid embrace of this garment felt even
more like a sort of portable bondage - one of the reasons I got into corsetting
in the first place. Between the compression of my waist and the plugs down
below, I was really getting turned on. At least I'd be in prime condition for
Jurgen! On a lark, I decided to leave the key to the lock on the dresser when I
left.
The only thing left now was the hood.
Diary, you already know how I feel about hoods. The sensation of having my
hearing reduced, of the tight latex clinging around my head, is delightful.
Most of the ones Jurgen has bought for me have gags fitted, and well... you know
how I love having my mouth filled, too.
I decided to use the breathe-through inflatable gag tonight. It took effort to
snap it into place, and I discovered it was impossible to spit out without
removing it from the hood. The hood was made of the same thick purple rubber as
the suit, so I lubricated it too, then spread more goo on my bare scalp. With
only a slight struggle, I pulled the thick helmet on, and it slid into place
with a wet sucking sound. It was no trouble to get the nostril tubes in my nose
so I could breath freely.
It took a little more work to get the wide collar of the helmet tucked into and
under the collar of the suit, but I did it. All of this was rather tiring, and
I knew I'd probably need my husband's help to get out of the outfit. I fitted
the pump to the mouthpiece, and pumped it, feeling the limp bladder within my
mouth suddenly swell, gradually filling my cheeks, forcing my jaw apart, and
making speech impossible. When my mouth was nicely full, I removed the pump from
the tiny valve and screwed the little plug in. Looking in the mirror, it was
difficult to tell that there was anything between the shiny molded lips of the
mask.
I left the pump on the dresser too. Jurgen has always liked me gagged, and I
figured that if he wanted to talk to me when I got there, he could always
improvise something to release the pressure- he's handy that way. In the
meantime, I wanted to feel helpless, trapped.
Okay, I was dressed. The only remaining task was to wipe off the dribbles of
lubricant and apply a liberal amount of polish to the suit. That took only
moments, and when I was done, I hesitated. I have never done anything quite
this daring before. Suppose I was stopped by a police officer? I'm embarrassed
to say that the idea of being helplessly incommunicado before a uniformed
officer sent a sudden throb though me. I suppressed a shudder, and buried my
fears.
Before I left, I took a last look in the mirror, admiring the deep color and
brilliant shine of the suit. My breasts jutted out improbably high and firm,
the corset held me brutally erect, while my now tiny waist (not to mention the
back curve of the corset) emphasized my bust and buttocks even further. The
skyscraper heels and the unbroken line of the boots showed off my legs to great
advantage.
Not bad for thirty-four, I told myself. I strutted carefully to the stairs, and
began picking my way carefully down to the front hall. That took longer than it
should have, because the bouncing motions I made were repeated and amplified by
those darned dildos inside me, and I had to stop several times for deep
breathing and clenching teeth. Eventually, I made my way into the hall, found
the car keys, and headed off for the lab and my poor unsuspecting husband.
...continued in Part II
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
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 3
February 15th.
Dear Diary,
It looks like this is taking longer to get written down than I thought it would.
I took a break from writing yesterday, and just relaxed. Well, I relaxed as
much as I can these days. But I digress. I was talking about the accident at
the lab...
When I awoke, I was lying on my back, Jurgen's beautiful face filling my vision.
He was sobbing, calling my name over and over.
"Ack!" I said. I'm really eloquent when I wake up.
"You're alive! Thank God!" he said. "There was no way to tell, no way..." he
broke down again for a moment, then seemed to rally himself.
"All right. Gotta get calmed down. Gotta get you out of this. What the hell
has happened to you? Jesus..."
I sighed softly, in what I hoped was a reassuring way. I felt a lingering
desire for the incredible feeling I had just experienced. I wanted to go back
to that place of light and heat and joy. The noise got a response from Jurgen.
"Oh! What am I doing?" he said, to no one in particular. He looked into my
eyes, or at least, into the lenses of my helmet. I was still wearing the suit!
"Are you all right in there? Can you breathe okay?"
I answered "Uh-huh" to each question through a tightly closed jaw. Something
seemed to be wrong with my mouth.
"How do you feel?"
The something wrong was that I couldn't open my mouth, it was clamped shut. I
spoke through closed teeth. I must have sounded silly.
"I'm fine. I feel... strange but, God honey, that was the greatest feeling I've
experienced in my whole life."
"It was? But... you screamed."
"I usually do when I come." Always the subtle diplomat, that's me.
"Oh. Well, at least your mind seems to be okay... but jeez, something happened-
look at the suit!"
I tried to sit up. That was when I realized why I felt so strange. I couldn't
move. I don't mean I was paralyzed. I could feel my muscles flexing slightly
within whatever was holding me firm. And each time I did I felt amazing tingles
of warmth shoot through me from wherever my skin slid within the suit. It felt
wonderful, but it wasn't normal, and that scared the hell out of me, so I
stopped trying to move. I didn't want to stop, mind you. It felt very, very
nice. Like sexual sensations. Wonderful, really. But I could tell that
something was very wrong with me, and I was more than a little frightened.
I was breathing okay, but with some difficulty. I realized that I was embedded
inside something rigid. I could only breathe by exhaling, forcing the air out
of my lungs, since whatever had me in it's grip didn't allow my chest to expand
at all.
"Um, I can't seem to move right now," I said nervously. "Why? What's wrong
with the suit?"
"It's ah, well, for one thing, it's not purple any more. It's black. I thought
maybe it had gotten really hot or something."
"No, at least I don't think so. I feel fine. I felt a little warm when I
was... when it... well anyway, I'm not burned or anything."
"And it's a lot shinier than it was too," he added.
"Huh. Well right now, it's also rock solid, and I want out."
"Don't worry hon, we'll have you out of there in no time," my love told me. He
glanced at his watch. "Shit! The others will be here any minute,they're
supposed to come in early! I've got to get you out of here!"
He tugged at my arm.
"Listen hon, I can't seem to budge your suit- it's gone completely rigid."
So that was it!
"No kidding, really?" I shot back. "I can't move. Heh. This could be great
fun, if I weren't so scared."
"What on earth possessed you to... never mind. We'll cover that later. Um, are
you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I feel good. Really good, actually. I mean, every time I move, I get
these incredible sensations, like sex, only on my skin... whatever I move... or
um, try to move."
I paused to take stock of my body, trying to move something, anything. Once
again, waves of pleasure shot through me, but it was a fruitless exercise. I
tried turning my head, opening my jaw. Nope. It was as if I were cast in
stone.
"Okay, listen honey- I'm going to take you home, okay? We have to get you out
of here before my partners show up. They would flip if they found out! Okay,
here we go- Oof!"
To my amazement, he picked me up, and with some difficulty, carried me to the
door. My husband is a scientist not a linebacker, and I knew he couldn't carry
me very far. At the door, he had to set me down again, and turn me around, then
pull me by the shoulders through the narrow doorway. I was completely helpless.
He tried to pick me up again, but the heroic effort he'd made in the lab must
have worn him out. He couldn't do it.
It's not that I'm heavy, mind you! I'm in great shape. But the only exercise
my husband gets is popping the top on a Coke while starting into a computer
screen. He had to drag me the rest of the way to the front door.
He got me to the outside door and dragged me through, when an amazing thing
happened. Suddenly, I could move! I couldn't see as well, since it was dark
out, but I wiggled, and he nearly dropped me in shock.
"What the hell?" he said. He set me carefully on my feet. "It softened! Thank
God, it must have been a temporary effect. Do you feel okay, hon-can you walk?
I nodded. But as soon as I started to move, those same amazing, delicious
sensations coursed through me, from all over my body now, as the tight suit
slithered around my lubricated skin. The little dildos that I'd put back in
were still rockin' and rollin' too. I moaned and came to a halt, shuddering.
"What is it? What's wrong?" my hubby asked. There was panic in his voice. He
must have thought something terrible had happened to me, that I must be
suffering.
I turned slowly, carefully, so I could keep my thoughts coherent.
"I'm fine. It just feels... TOO GOOD," I said slowly.
"What?! What does?"
"Everything, moving anything feels like, well, like I said, like sex! My whole
skin feels like one big erogenous zone!"
He stared at me then, as he might have stared at a particularly interesting
insect that had wandered onto his desk.
"Well. I'll. Be. Damned." he finally said. "But other than that, you're sure
you're all right. Nothing else is wrong?"
I nodded silently, the suit silently making love to my neck and scalp as I did
so.
"Right then, let's get you home." He fairly dragged me to his car, while I
tottered and stumbled on my stiletto heels. Ignoring my protests and moans of
excitement, except to ask once if I was still okay, he stuffed me into the
passenger seat, and took off like a shot. I nearly came just climbing in.
When we got home he pulled me inside, turned on the light, and I promptly froze.
That's when we figured it out; That the suit is light sensitive. In the bright
light of our front hall chandelier, I was frozen solid, the suit having once
again turned as solid as marble. I figured it out right away of course, it took
my husband a little longer.
"What's wrong?" Jurgen asked, not realizing why I had stopped. He closed the
door behind us and grabbed me by the wrist, and as soon as he did, the truth
dawned on him. He turned out the light. I could move again. He turned it on,
I became a statue. Or rather, the suit did, and since I was stuck inside it, I
was just as immobilized. He turned the light off again. I moved my arm, letting
him know I could move. I should mention that "move" is relative. The suit was
as restricting as it had been when I first put it on. The heavy boning on the
corset for example, made it quite impossible for me to bend at the waist.
He took my hand and guided me into the living room, sat me in a chair, turned on
the light. He tapped on the suit with a pen. It made a hard click, as if I had
been carved from granite.
"Damn. This is very interesting. I guess I can't go back to the lab-there's no
way I can leave you alone like this," he said.
He called the lab, leaving a voice mail message that a family emergency had come
up, and then started examining me in earnest.
"Well, interesting suit or not, we've got to get you out of it so we can check
you out. There's no telling what changes have happened to you. I want to get
you to a hospital." So saying, he turned the dimmer until the lights were
softer, and we found that the suit gradually became softer as the light dimmed.
"Huh. Okay, I'll be right back." He pounded upstairs and back again, and I saw
a gleam in his hand. He had the key to the little lock I'd put on the corset
flap. He turned me over and fumbled behind me. I felt, rather than heard the
click as the lock was removed, then I heard him swear softly.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said softly.
"What?"
His tone worried me. He turned me back over, and examined the collar of the
suit. He plucked at it, tugged at it.
"Son of a bitch." he said. I hadn't heard him swear this much in one day for as
long I'd known him. I was getting really worried now.
"What's wrong, dammit?" I said, alarm rising in my throat.
"It's just that... Well, dammit, your helmet seems to have melted some."
"What!" I said. I was on the verge of panic now.
"Now hold on a second," he soothed, in his best Daddy-will-fix-it voice, "don't
get excited. The suit material where the neck meets the helmet appears to have
ah, sort of welded together. In fact, I can't see any of the glue seams where
the suit was put together, it's sort of smoothed out. Neat effect, really, but
it's going to be a lot harder to get it off you. I don't think we can stretch
that mouth hole around your entire body. Hmm. I'm just going to have to cut it
off, I'm afraid."
"You've got to be kidding!" I yelled, "this suit cost us nearly three thousand
dollars!"
"Right!" he retorted, "What's more important: your health, or a piece of fun
clothing? I'll buy you another one, for God's sake!"
I fumed, but I did it silently. To be honest, I was worried too, and while I
really felt fine, I wanted to be checked out by a doctor.
He came back with a pair of bandage cutters from the first aid kit. I was
grateful, considering I didn't particularly want my skin sliced open. He
couldn't get the blunt lower edge to penetrate. Not to be defeated, he pulled a
fold of the suit away from my skin. The bandage cutters wouldn't nick it.
"Huh," he said, and left the room. He came back with the Fiskars shears from my
sewing kit. They're really sharp, I've cut myself with them more than once.
They didn't even mark the suit. Jurgen looked up into my eyes, which
admittedly, he probably couldn't see through the dark lenses.
I stared back anyway.
"Toto," he said seriously, "I don't think this is latex any more."
"Very funny," I said, "then what is it? Come on, get me out of this!"
"I'm working on it, I'm working on it. And to be honest, I don't KNOW what it
is. But I do know that no rubber I've ever seen resists a good sharp pair of
scissors! Lemme try something else. Hold on a sec."
He disappeared again.
I heard him go down to his lab / workshop in the basement. When he returned, he
had a pair of heavy duty metal cutting sheers in his hand. Needless to say, they
didn't work. I was beginning to get the idea at that point, but it took a lot
longer for the real truth to sink in.
"Okay hon, I want your permission to try a knife."
"Hey, wait a damn minute here! Lemme think," I said. Then I had an idea.
"This reminds me of when we did the body cast thing, remember? So what if
you..."
I saw the light go on over his head, and he took off again. He returned in a
few minutes with the cast saw he had bought a few years ago, when he had put me
in a plaster cast.
He turned the room lights up full and the suit became rigid. He turned the saw
on, and I winced at the awful whine it made. I had to remind myself that the
oscillating blade wouldn't cut skin, just the hard, rigid suit material.
He pressed the blade against the whatever-it-was, and it made an awful racket.
After a moment, I noticed it wasn't making any dust. He took the saw away and
looked down in amazement. There wasn't any sign of his efforts except for a
slightly glossier area on the already shiny material.
"Um," he said.
"No go, huh?"
"Nope. Lemme think a moment."
After a long pause, during which I mentally kicked myself a thousand times for
meddling with that damned machine, he spoke again.
"Okay. What I need to do is get another sample of this material, so I can play
with it, find out if there's a solvent for it, find out what will cut it, and so
on."
"But I thought you said the the other researchers were going to be showing up
soon," I argued.
I felt a little more calm now, since it didn't look like I was in any immediate
danger. My darling was a brain- he would figure something out!
"They are. I'll have to go back tomorrow night with some latex, expose it the
same way, and hopefully, I'll wind up with a material with the same properties."
"And in the meantime?" I asked, beginning to wonder how long I would have to
spend in the suit.
"In the meantime, you should try to relax. You've had a long day. Why don't I
put you to bed?"
...to be continued in Part 4.
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 4
February 20th.
Dear Diary,
I took another break from writing. It's hard sometimes, looking back, and
wondering how I could have been so stupid as to get myself into this position.
Not to mention thinking about the future, and what will become of me. I was
thirty-two when the accident occurred. How long do I have now?
Geez, this is becoming a book all by itself! Poor diary, it looks like I'm
running out of pages, and I might have to continue this in another binder.
Don't worry, it will still be a part of you- a part of my life. Perhaps I shall
put all of this into one big story some day and have it published. There would
be no danger, although I'm sure Jurgen would never agree to it. After who would
believe it- it's too fantastic! My husband has been keeping tabs on the project
that caused all this, and there hasn't been anything really new discovered. But
I'm getting ahead of myself again. I was telling you about the accident. We
had just gotten home, and Jurgen had tried to get the suit off me, with no luck
at all...
"In the meantime, you should try to relax. You've had a long day. Why don't I
put you to bed?"
I allowed as how that might be a good idea. He turned down the lights and
helped me up the stairs to the bedroom. I admit, the sensation I experienced
just from climbing the stairs nearly made me come half way there. He tried to
tuck me into bed, but I was all over him as soon as he let me go. Between the
trip home, and the brief hike up the stairs, I was raring to go, and I let him
know in no uncertain terms. I suppose I was doing a slow boil even downstairs,
but my nervousness at being trapped had preoccupied me. I guess I'd decided I
would be okay, because I'd forgotten all about that now. I pushed him onto his
back, and nearly tore his pants from him. I did pop a few buttons getting his
shirt off before I attacked his nipples. He moaned and crushed my latex
-encased head against his chest. I slipped out of his hands and slid my
attentions lower, licking along the way to my goal.
When I got there, he was already at attention, his gorgeous cock pulsing in time
to his heartbeat, a tiny drop of pre-come glistening on the tip. Jurgen does NOT
do that unless he has been aroused for a while. I knew then that he must have
been as turned on as I was at my "predicament", but had been suppressing it
while he worried about how to get me out.
I serviced him with complete abandon, wiggling as I did so, for with every
squirm and shimmy, hot waves of pleasure, like surges of liquid electricity,
shot through me. I had never enjoyed giving head more, and I'm sure it must
have showed in my performance.
Before he could come however, he pushed me off of him, and in a husky voice,
ordered me to stretch out on the bed. Ah, this was more like the old Jurgen!
It had been so long... I stretched out, and he positioned me spread-eagle, as if
her were going to tie my limbs to the bed posts for the hundredth time. But
once he had me the way he wanted, he simply walked over and turned on the light!
Instantly, I was frozen in that position, immobilized as never before.
"Don't go anywhere," he said with a brief smile, before I heard his footsteps
pounding downstairs. He reappeared moments later with the pump gag I had worn
to the lab.
"Gee, bored with my mouth so soon, dear?" I'm such a card- I just _had_ to
shoot my mouth off. He didn't reply, just stuffed in the bladder and snapped
the flange into place. I hummed softly with delight as he pumped it up. I do
so love being gagged, and there is nothing so satisfyingly mouth-filling as a
well-made pump gag. The bladder filled my mouth to capacity, and the effect was
made even more severe, given that my cheeks and jaw were unable to expand, due
to the now-rigid hood. I moaned as the pressure increased, and was startled to
hear how quiet the sound was. This material absorbed sound quite well. Jurgen
took my moan as a cue, and stopped pumping.
I could see that the whole situation had my sweetheart in a terrible state of
arousal. He was shaking slightly, and his cock stood out stiff, despite the
lack of attention paid to it in the last few minutes. It was pulsing slightly
with his heartbeat, as hard and large as I'd ever seen it.
When he was finished pumping, he climbed back onto the bed with me, and to my
disappointment, did not enter me immediately. I was ready, oh, how I was ready,
and it was obvious he was too, but my dear sadistic husband had other plans.
It's a sign of his love for me that he put my pleasure ahead of his own. He lay
down next to me, and using one hand, began to gently tug and tweak the rings in
my sex. He avoided my knob, damn him, instead teasing everything else, getting
as close to my clit as he could without actually touching it.
I squirmed and writhed inside my hard, shiny prison, and each movement amplified
the pleasure he gave me as waves of sexual energy shot out from my skin where it
rubbed inside the suit. I could see that this new set of erogenous zones would
be a real problem if I didn't get out of the suit!
Finally, he let go my outer sex, and gently flicked my clit ring with the end of
his finger. After only a few flicks, I was ready to explode, and I tried to let
him know with the incoherent noises I was making through the gag, but it was no
use. Finally, just as I thought I would die from excitement, he stopped, and
climbed on top of me quickly. All at once and nothing first, he rammed into me
up to the hilt in one thrust. The hot thickness of him, and his pubic bone
crushing against my clit was all that I needed, and I was off on the wildest
ride of my life (at least at that point), my rigidly held body spasming and
convulsing against the hard confines of my suit. After a few seconds of this,
my forebrain hung up the "Out To Lunch" sign, and I ceased to think, just
revelling in the ecstasy as wave after wave of climax and spending rolled over
me.
After some unknown time, (Jurgen told me later I came for a minute or so), I
realized he hadn't moved at all since that first urgent thrust. As soon as he
did, starting before I was even wound down from my first set of climaxes, I was
off again, coming almost continuously as he pounded relentlessly into my greedy,
twitching sex.
I think I passed out.
When I became aware again, the lights were low, the pump gag was no filling my
mouth, and I could move again. Jurgen's face was hovering over mine.
"All you all right?"
"Mmmm," I answered, as I looked around for the part of my brain that did the
talking, "ahh, yes. I'm very much `all right'. I love you."
"I love you too, hon. Can I towel you off? We seem to have made a mess."
I giggled. "Okay." As he rubbed gently at my crotch (we kept old towels in the
underdresser of the bed for "sex towels"), I clamped my thighs on his hand.
"Wait. Take it easy, I'm still a little sensitive."
He climbed off me, smiled, and said, "I'll be right back. Will you be okay?"
I nodded, thinking it unusual for him to climb out of bed so soon after sex.
One nice thing about my husband, he always stays with me, cuddling and talking,
if I want, after sex. One of the biggest complaints I've heard from the few
other wives I've talked to about sex, is that their husbands always either roll
over and go to sleep, or jump out of bed to go do something, and don't
understand why you'd want to just lie there and cuddle quietly for an hour.
I got more and more irked as the clock ticked on (actually, our bedside clock is
a digital electronic one, but you know what I mean) and no hubby. But I forgave
him instantly, as he appeared about fifteen minutes later, carrying a tray laden
with two steaming mugs, and a plate of Pfeffernuse cookies, Jurgen's specialty.
That's right, my darling, on top of all his other talents, can cook too. With
the exception of not being much of an athlete, he is such a renaissance man.
Setting the tray on the bedside table, he clambered back into the bed with me,
and though I could move just fine, insisted on feeding me himself, alternating
little sips of hot chocolate laced with peppermint schnapps, and bites of
cookie. I was in heaven, and not having to move at all allowed me to relax
completely. After a mug of that potent concoction, I went out like a light.
-=O=-
August 3rd.
Dear Diary,
It has been nearly six months now since The Accident, as we have come to call
it. As you may have guessed by now, dear Diary, all the rest of his attempts to
remove the suit, or even to scratch it, have been fruitless. Oh sure, he tried
everything short of killing me. He went back to the lab and tried making more
of the material. It didn't work. Well, strictly speaking, that's not true.
Once it turned a piece of the same exact latex into a puddle of foul smelling
liquid, but that wasn't exactly helpful. We both agree that it would be
extremely foolish, not to mention quite dangerous, to expose me to the machine
again. So that's out. He has tried stretching it away from my body and cutting
it with a torch. It turns out the suit conducts heat very well. The whole
thing got uncomfortably hot pretty fast, and the torch didn't even leave a mark
on it.
I've gotten used to the suit though. I know I may very likely spend the rest of
my life in it. I've adjusted to the idea, and well, there are some really nice
benefits. I'm beginning to think of it as a part of me. When I look in the
mirror, I see the same thing every day, and to me, it's just the way my body
looks now.
We've figured out that some profound changes have happened to me, and not just
the fact that my entire body is now an erogenous zone. Like Jurgen's rabbit at
the lab, I haven't been eating. I haven't even been hungry. I haven't had to
go to the bathroom (thank God!) and apparently, I'm not even sweating. I should
have started smelling bad, not to mention itching, after being trapped in the
suit for only a few days (without a bath), but that has never happened. I think
my nails have stopped growing, too.
There is something else though, and it's implications are so frightening, I
didn't tell my husband for two days after I figured it out.
I know now where I am getting my energy. The question arose as soon as I
stopped eating, because let's face it, _something_ was keeping me alive and
warm, if it wasn't food.
It's light.
Somehow, the suit itself (I think) is feeding me, keeping me renewed, who knows,
perhaps even keeping me young, by absorbing light, and then doing... well,
whatever it does.
To test this, I stayed in the dark a whole day and on into that night. By
evening I felt weak and dizzy. As soon as Jurgen turned on the lights, I felt
an intense tingling warmth all over me, and within minutes I felt much better.
When he took me down to the kitchen, which has better lighting, the feeling got
much stronger- in fact, it felt really good.
Jurgen got a big work light from his shop and played it across me and the
sensations were incredible! It was very similar to how I felt during The
Accident itself, although no where near the intensity. We have played with this
phenomenon a few times since, as a reward to me when I've been good. "When I
have been good." Hee-hee! Yes, diary, we have been getting more and more into
the dominance and submission side of the kinky games we have always played.
We have heavy drapes on all the windows now, and dimmers on all the lights so I
can move around the house. But Jurgen can always immobilize me totally,
whenever he wishes, with the twist of a knob. Whenever he is at work I have
been staying indoors during the day, out of paranoia I suppose, even though our
nearest neighbors are miles away on the other side of the ridge, and we never
get uninvited guests. We both know that I'm now a scientific curiosity, and
neither one of us wants me to become a guinea pig in some secret government
laboratory.
Unfortunately, we had to spread the word that he and I have gotten a divorce,
and that I moved away immediately, otherwise it would be awkward when guests
came to visit. There would be too many questions.
But anyway, I had been playing with light a lot when Jurgen was at work. We have
this big police flashlight in the kitchen drawer that is very bright. The
feelings I got by playing over my "skin" were incredible. I could shine it on
just one breast, and get the same sensations emanating from there as I do when I
ah, "jill off".
So a few weeks ago, I decided I just had to try out direct sunlight. I knew
Jurgen would have fits, because of what might happen if someone discovered me,
but really, no one ever came to the house any more, except for the occasionally
parcel delivery man, and we weren't expecting any packages. And besides, it was
one of those times when Jurgen was busy on the project again, and I'd been
suffering a lack of his attentions lately. We already knew, through fooling
around with the flashlight, that the only parts of the suit that are affected by
light or dark are the ones that are exposed. In other words, I can stick my arm
in a lighted closet, and it becomes rigid, but not the rest of the suit.
So a few weeks ago, I left Jurgen a note on the refrigerator telling him he
could find me in the back yard. I dug out one of our oldest toys, a leather
body bag with a drawstring top that was in poor condition, and cut the bottom
out of it. I pulled it on over me, with my head poking through the top, and
snugged the string around my neck. The bag reached the floor, covering my feet.
I went outside, into the back yard. As soon as the sun hit me, my neck and head
went rigid, and a tremendous, indescribably delicious sensation sprang up all
around the area. There was a sort of rushing hum, like a chorus of voices, in
my ears. As I walked, I could feel my booted feet alternately going rigid, then
softening (somewhat- they had never been all that soft), and little pulses of
electric joy shot up from them as they peeked out from under the bag. I walked
into the middle of the yard, where I knew I'd be well-lit for the next eight
hours or so.
I loosened the string at my neck, spread my feet a little and dug my heels into
the grass. I hesitated. The wonderful feelings from my feet and head and neck
made me wonder whether I could stand the full effect without going nuts. What I
was about to do might make me crazy. But I wanted it. Oh God, diary, how I
wanted it. I screwed my courage to the sticking point, let go of the string and
dropped my arms. The bag slid down my body, and I felt the suit stiffen as the
light reached the rest of it. And as the full warmth of the sun hit the suit, I
gasped in shock and mindless delight as the electrified tongues of a thousand
phantom lovers closed upon my body. Rational thought left me, and within
seconds, I came.
I came and came and came, mentally and physically and spiritually, in an
unending and relentless orgasm that went beyond the merely physical sensations
of sex and swept away my mind on waves of joy and delight and climax and
spending, on and on and on.
The first thing I remember after dropping the bag was Jurgen looking at me from
a few feet away. The sun must have set, although the sky was still light, and
the suit was still rigid. The sensations had reduced in intensity quite a bit
however- I could think somewhat clearly again. The look on my husband's face
was inscrutable, however. I was so weak he had to carry me inside, which wasn't
easy, as I've said before. As soon as I gathered my wits somewhat, I began to
cry.
"Honey, what's wrong?" he asked, but I think he already knew the answer.
"That was so beautiful, so perfect, so... so much. I want it back. I don't
ever want it to end." I knew how I sounded. I had heard begging like that when
I had worked as a volunteer in a drug rehabilitation center.
I am an addict.
But my husband's love has helped me through it. Though he is physically
ordinary, emotionally Jurgen must be the strongest husband any woman could have.
He keeps me happy. The sex is still great, although after that one day, I
thought I would never want ordinary sex (or kinky sex for that matter) again.
But the body forgets with time, and I still feel incredible pleasure just from
walking around.
Jurgen seems to be happy with our sex life, although I think he's a little
jealous of the heights of pleasure I am capable of reaching that are forever
denied to him. I have begun to worry about him.
-=O=-
June 21st.
Dear Diary,
It has been nearly a year since I last wrote. Life has been up and down. For a
while the physical differences between myself and Jurgen, and the terrible
isolation imposed upon me by the suit seemed almost too much to bear for both of
us. But what could I do, where could I go? I spent a long time thinking
suicidal thoughts, but eventually, I pulled through it. Our relationship has
improved, we are sleeping together, playing together again. And now, there
appears to be a light at the end of the tunnel at last.
Last night I awoke to the sound of muttering.
The room was dimly lit, and I sat up to find Jurgen hunched over the little desk
we have in the corner of our bedroom. We use it mostly for writing letters. The
light in the room came from the lamp on the desk. He was writing or drawing
something, and occasionally talking to himself. Jurgen almost never talks to
himself unless he is intent on some very important project. I wondered what he
might be up to.
I sat up on one elbow and said, "What are you working on, hon?"
He answered without looking up.
"We had a breakthrough at the lab. Siegfried, he's our math whiz you know, came
up with some formulas to describe how the D.S.M. machine works. With them, we
should be able to calibrate and control it more accurately, by an order of
magnitude."
"Oh. Well then... wait a minute," I said, "does that mean there's any chance
you can duplicate my suit material? Or the effects it had on my body?"
"It means, my dear, that we'll be able to produce any effect we want, within the
limits of physical laws... and hopefully, reverse them as well."
Finally, he turned away from the desk and looked at me.
"Does that mean what I think it means?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Will it be safe?"
"I'm certain of it. Look. Um, you know how I feel about the accident," he
began. I interrupted him.
"And YOU know how I feel. I'm as happy as I ever was! I admit, I'd like a
change of pace... I mean, I'd like to be able to... well, it would be nice just
to feel your skin against mine again..."
"Yes. That's what I mean. This thing is keeping us apart. It's driving me
crazy! I'd be happy if you were well, normal again, or for that matter, if I
was just like you! But... I need to know what you want."
"I want you to be happy," I said, and I meant it. "I want us to be able to
share each other completely. If that means you becoming like me, fine. If it
means me becoming normal again, so be it."
"All right. But I think I can work it out so we can have the best of both
worlds..."
I was sleepy, and my eyes were drooping. "Okay dear, but why don't you come to
bed?" I glanced at the clock. "It's three A.M.!"
He came to bed, and we cuddled together and slept. My dreams were full of
bizarre bondage devices, cackling mad scientists, and incongruously, rubber
mermaids.
...to be continued in part5
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 5
June 28th.
Dear Diary,
Nothing much new to report today. Jurgen says the modifications to the DSM
machine are going well, and should be finished soon. We have decided to put a
high brick wall around the property, for security and privacy. The workers are
out there right now. When it is finished, we won't have to worry about anyone
seeing or bothering me.
Even if we are out in the middle of nowhere, we are both still paranoid. Neither
one of us wants me to become a scientific curiosity. And I'll be able to stay
outside during the day if I want. I'm not sure I want to go through that again,
as incredible as it was, because I think I am already addicted to it. I wonder
if this is how a recovered drug addict feels. They say that the first time you
smoke "crack" cocaine, it is better than an orgasm. I hope I never find out.
Anyway, I'll be glad when the wall is done. Having the workmen around makes me
nervous.
July 6th.
Dear Diary,
The wall around the property is finished. It looks nice, and is about eight
feet high, so it's unlikely anyone will be able to see in. Jurgen has had a
pair of fancy wooden gates installed with an automatic opener at the driveway.
There is also a small locked postern door in the back that opens onto our old
hiking trail.
Jurgen made another couple of toys for my suit, just to keep things interesting.
They are a pair of inflatable plugs that fit the sheaths still stuck inside me.
The pumps are little detachable puffer bulbs, and what's more, he's put a little
battery operated light inside each one, so once he's blown them up, he can
freeze them that size. He finished them last night and we played. God, I never
dreamed I could be stretched so much! He did it gradually, giving my poor
abused muscles time to stretch and relax. After about an hour, I felt like I
was getting an enema, both front and rear. Then he pressed the little switch on
each one, and removed the pumps. I could hardly walk- I imagined that this was
how a pregnant woman feels giving birth. Of course I know it isn't that bad,
because giving birth is painful.
Later, he got out his big flashlight, and played it over my breasts, crotch, and
the rest of my body for about an hour. I never quite came, although the
sensations were exquisite. Afterwards, we had sex, good old fashioned
conventional sex, and it was the best we've had in a month.
They have started doing tests on the modified DSM machine. Jurgen came home
yesterday with a piece of rubber that has the physical properties as my suit- it
gets hard in the light. There may be hope yet!
Nothing much else new to write about.
July 11th.
Jurgen says they are running tests on animals now. They reversed the
physiological "photosynthesis" effect on that rabbit, apparently with no ill
effects. It is just like a normal rabbit, eating and crapping regularly, thank
God. I'm so excited!
July 14th.
More tests at the lab. Jurgen has been playing with rubber and plastics after
hours. He's managed to make an inverse form of the same latex as my suit- it
becomes rigid in the dark, and softens in light. He also made some rubber that
is very, very soft. It was originally ordinary thick latex- a piece of an old
pair of ankle boots. But now it stretches to ridiculous limits, and is very
soft- it contracts very slowly. Another sample he came up with is crystal
clear, yet it feels just like regular latex rubber!
July 16th.
Jurgen came home with that "I know a secret" look of his. When I asked him what
was up, he smiled and said very quietly,
"I think I'm ready to get you out of the suit."
"But... but, what... I mean," I stammered. I was at a loss for words. I was
conflicted too. I wasn't one hundred percent certain I wanted to be freed now.
And I was afraid. The machine had made me different- had made me a sex-toy that
lived on, and got off on, light. What might it do to me this time?
"What do you want to do?" I temporized. I wasn't ready to commit.
"We can tune it very closely now. I should be able to soften the suit enough
that we can take it off, without affecting you at all."
"And what about me... my body? Can you change me?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"Yes, but... what do you want?" he asked
"I'm not sure. I think I like being the way I am. It seems harmless, and
helpful, my figure stays perfect, my skin is flawless, everything about my body
stays perfect, without my doing anything. Who knows- I might be immortal! I
only wish..."
"What?"
"It... um, it's not really fair of me to ask."
"What?"
"Well, I wish... I mean, I get so much enjoyment, I can feel so good, it's out
of this world, I can't begin to describe it, and yet, you're stuck with the same
old body... it doesn't seem fair to you."
"I know. That's why I've decided to join you."
I was shocked for a moment. Then a rush of joy ran through me. Followed by a
shadow of doubt.
"But hon, I've been thinking. I get off, I feel good, I get recharged and so
on, when light hits the _suit_, not me. I mean, the suit isn't transparent. So
somehow, it's the suit that's feeding me, I think. What about..."
"I know. It doesn't matter how it works. We can read the structural and
chemical differences between you and me, and the DSM will make me just like you-
it doesn't matter how it works, and we don't even have to understand it."
"But what about the suit! I'll still have to wear the suit!"
"Not all the time- only when you want to. And consider: once we've softened
your suit, we can cut it, add a zipper, make it something you can put on and
take off. Hell, we might even be able to duplicate the material and make one
just like it for me!"
Well, to make a long story short, we went back to the lab that very night. I
was quivering with excitement, both from a fear of being discovered in the
bizarre outfit that had been sealed on me for so long, and from a nagging sense
of doubt. What if we were missing some important part of the puzzle?
After my husband had made sure that no one else was about, he led me to the lab
again, turning out the lights so I could move around. I noticed another entire
rack of equipment had been added, and the platform and machine itself looked
more "slick", more professionally finished now.
"Okay, we're warmed up," my love's voice said from behind the control console.
"Step up on the platform and I'll scan you."
The platform began turning, and then the humming started, but I felt nothing.
Perhaps there was the faintest warmth, but I may heave imagined it.
After a few moments, he said, "Got it. Now it's my turn."
He appeared from behind the racks and took my place on the platform. Then a look
of fear crossed his face, and he said, "Good lord! I almost forgot!"
He began undressing as he spoke. "Wouldn't want to do anything strange to my
clothes, would I?" He chuckled to make light of the grave error he had almost
made. Soon he was nude.
"Okay, so what do I do?" I asked.
"It's all set up, just walk back to that panel."
I did.
"Now, do you see the key switch on the left? Turn that to the right."
I did as I was told.
"Now, just to the right is a red button inside a black safety shroud. Press
that."
I did. There was a humming, followed by the same *thump* I had heard that last
time so many months ago, and a shiver went up my spine.
"Okay, turn the key off," came his voice, sounding somewhat puzzled.
I obeyed, and shot out from behind the console to check on my love. He looked as
puzzled as he had sounded, but was obviously fine.
"How do you feel?" I asked. I was worried sick.
"Oh fine, fine. I'm a little weak, and suddenly I feel kind of hungry, but
that's okay."
"I'll make you a huge steak when we get home. But is that all?" I asked,
remembering how I had climaxed under the influence of the machine.
"Yeah. Didn't you say you got excited and came, when you were exposed?"
"Yes. You didn't feel anything?"
"No, just a warmth. But don't worry, we'll find out soon enough whether it
worked. Right now, I want to get you out of that suit!"
"Okay, I'm... I'm ready."
I clambered back up onto the turntable, while Jurgen babbled.
"We've got a data storage system on it now. I stored the parameters for that
super soft rubber, and the clear stuff too, on disk, along with a lot of other
things we came up with. All I have to do is recall them. I've already
confirmed as best I can that these settings don't affect anything but that
material you're wearing. Okay, are you ready?"
I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me from where he stood.
"I'm ready," I called.
I heard the humming, then the thump, and that was all. I hadn't felt a thing.
But as soon as I moved I did. It felt like my suit was falling off! The
sensation was so alien to me that I was badly startled. It was loose! Jurgen
came over and helped me down from the platform. Laying me down on a workbench,
he poked the suit carefully with a pair of scissors.
Sure enough, it could be cut! My dear mad scientist had finally done it! The
suit was now so loose that I could have literally slid it from my body if the
hood had not become permanently attached. But we had planned for this. Jurgen
made a careful cut with bandage scissors from my waist at the front, through the
crotch, and up the back to the crown of the helmet. Although I slid out of it
easily, the lack of support from the corset section was quite uncomfortable, and
I could already feel my back muscles complaining. Later, we would cement a heavy
duty zipper into the slice, and re-zap the suit with Jurgen's widget. Then it
could be put on and taken off at will.
"Honey," I told him, "I think you'd better lace me into one of my old corsets
when I get home- my back is already killing me."
"Hmm, well, that's fine if we still have them- I think they're in those boxes in
the storage shed. After all, we weren't sure you'd ever need them again! But
right now, we'd better clean up and get out of here."
What we hadn't thought of was what I'd wear home if we did get the suit off!
Jurgen found a spare lab coat, and after a while, I wore it home. I say "after
a while" because we spent the better part of an hour just exploring my body and
skin. Neither one of us had seen my real body in well over a year! He played
with my piercings some, which had been inaccessible for so long, and that led to
other things, and, well, I'm sure you can imagine. I wonder what some of his
more conservative, greyer-haired cohorts would think if they knew the uses to
which we put various benches, desks, and consoles during that hour or so.
My first inkling that anything was wrong came when we got home. As I had
promised, I made Jurgen a decent all-american steak-and-potatoes dinner,
something we seldom indulge in. He ate with gusto, but it came right back up.
I was appalled, but he shrugged it off to stress and perhaps a flu bug that had
been going around the lab, and after a while, I calmed down. We turned in then,
both of us exhausted by the day's events.
July 18th.
This is not good. Jurgen can't eat anything. He tried to eat breakfast this
morning and it wouldn't stay down. He took some pills for motion sickness,
hoping they'd quell the nausea, and went to work, saying he felt fine, just
tired. Then this evening, he came home looking like he'd been run over by a
truck, pale and exhausted, and still couldn't eat anything. If he isn't better
in the morning, I'm keeping him home from work and sending him to the clinic.
July 21st.
Well, wonder of wonders! We have created another monster. We found out
yesterday, by accident. Jurgen still had not eaten, and what's more, was too
weak to get out of bed. He had gone in to the clinic, which had pronounced him
fit and disease-free, but probably suffering from stress and over-work, which by
then we both knew was nonsense. Something had happened to him, something the
DSM machine had done, and it wasn't what had happened to me. We had no way of
knowing what it was, and I secretly steeled myself to the knowledge that he
might die.
That night, I tried to comfort him with a little sex. The love of my life is
blessed with a better-than-average libido for a man his age, (or perhaps I
should say _I_ am blessed, but I digress) but he told me he just didn't have the
energy.
"No, no, hon, just lie back and relax! I'll do all the work. Whatever had gone
wrong, it didn't seem to have harmed his equipment, since he got hard quickly
from my attentions. I had decided to make this love making session something
special, for who knew how long we might have together? After I had him at
attention, I proceeded to ignore mister happy, much to my husband's chagrin, and
gave him a long, leisurely tongue bath, something he loves, but which served
only to frustrate him further. By the time I had deliberately waved my rear in
his face for the third time, he was just about whining with unabated desire, and
I decided to take pity on him.
While I started to work his cock and balls over gently with my hands and mouth,
I squatted carefully on his face.
After only a few moments however, I had stopped working on him, and just sat
there distracted, as he proceeded to eat me with such gusto and abandon as I had
not seen in years! In fact, he was making such ridiculous sounds of pleasure,
lip-smacking and moaning and all (and I wasn't even touching him) that I began
to giggle a little. He ignored me though, and as I slipped into the throws of
my first orgasm of many that night, I witnessed a very curious thing indeed. He
came- suddenly, and without warning, showering my chest, face and belly with his
seed, and what's more, he _kept_ coming, growling and screaming into my crotch,
not letting up his attentions for one second, as I watched, fascinated. His
come kept pumping out for much longer than it ever had before, and when he ran
out, I stared as his cock continued to pump and jerk in that tell tale way it
has when he is coming. It took a long time before he wound down, and longer
still before we finished that night, and finally slept.
We have the answer.
July 25th.
We've been experimenting. Jurgen is better, although he is still weak, and is
not ready to work again. He has called in sick and the doctor at the clinic
gave him an explanatory note about "Chronic fatigue syndrome" or some such
mumbo-jumbo.
Never the less, there is now no doubt whatsoever in our minds about his
condition. My husband, through some perverse miracle of fate and physics, did
NOT receive the changes I did, probably due to his being nude, and my wearing
that suit. Instead, he appears to get both tremendous stimulation and
nourishment from my come, my vaginal mucous! Isn't that a hoot?!
In fact, he is _dependent_ on me for his health and stamina! It would be every
girl's dream, if it weren't for the fly in the ointment, more on that in a
moment. What we don't know, of course, is whether the changes that occurred to
my body have changed my secretions into something special that he can
metabolize, or whether _any_ woman would do. We both admit to being curious,
and we are both smart enough to realize it would be foolish to try to find out.
And of course there is the stimulation aspect. He described it to me in ways
that sounded vaguely like my own secret "affliction", which by the way, we have
discovered, _does_ depend on the suit- we're still not sure about _that_, but
anyway, he said it felt like swallowing heat and light, and that this warmth
spread through his body and caused him to tingle all over, until his whole body
felt like one big penis... sound familiar?
But there's another piece to all this- the other shoe, so to speak. He isn't
getting better fast enough. We have sex as often as we can stand it, and it's
keeping him going, but it isn't enough to get him back to his old energetic self
again. We are casting about for solutions, but I worry... he can't stay a
weakling- the frustration of that is already wearing on him. I don't know what
to do- I think I just need to generate more "juice".
...to be concluded in Part 6.
The Accident
by
Bill Lemieux
Part 6
August 2nd.
Since I can go out now during the day without either been struck rigid or coming
unglued, I have been sneaking to the library to look into this problem of ours.
Jurgen bitches and moans about being stuck in bed at home, but I remind him of
what it was like for me, and he is shamed into silence. I have to wear a long
coat, slacks, a wide-brimmed hat, and sunglasses if it's bright outside, but I
manage. A little light still falls on my face, and it feels very nice of
course, but I can ignore it enough to function.
I found some interesting stuff in the medical stacks though. Hormones. It seems
that some hormones given to women for other purposes were noted to increase
vaginal secretions as a side effect. The only trouble is, how in hell do we get
hormones without a prescription. I'm sure they'd be awfully curious about why
the esteemed (and very male) physicist wanted female hormones. Sigh.
August 8th.
It seems that many of the simpler female hormones are also given to animals
(human hormones work on animals? Hard to believe, but...). I am looking into
this.
Jurgen is keeping busy by ordering some custom garments and toys for us from
some of our favorite catalogs. He won't tell me what they are, and his mischief
is refreshing to me- at least he's in good spirits, generally.
August 11th.
Yes, there are human hormones being given to cattle, and yes, I have managed to
score some from a veterinary supply store, although the clerk there gave me some
strange looks. I tried dressing as "hick" as I could, but I don't think she
believe me. I have what appears to be a _huge_ supply, and the shelf life if
refrigerated is _years_. I haven't told Jurgen, he'd flip if he knew I was
going to inject myself with hormones hormones not approved for human use. I've
stripped some of the warning labels off the bottle...
August 17th.
Jurgen is back at work. That about says it all. And I need to go lie out in
the sun- I'm bushed. My hubby wore me out last night, but he also seems to have
had his fill. He went a little nuts, and at one point he was just grinning up
at me, wild-eyed, as he shuddered and quaked on the bed. He looked like some
crazed drug fiend, but he was hale and healthy, and he proved it several times
last night. Wow! We're back in the saddle again, it seems! The only side
effect I've noticed from the hormones has been a slight tenderness in my
breasts- at least, I assume it's the hormones- I don't have any lumps. It's not
painful, but I hope it goes away. If it doesn't, I'll go in for x-rays. I
should add that while the hormones have increased my secretion a little, it
hasn't been a whole lot. Jurgen had more energy this morning, but he still
seemed a little tired (probably because he spent all his energy wearing ME out
last night, the brute!), but really, it seems as though he gets more fun and
stimulation, than real nutrition or energy from eating me.
August 19th.
The tenderness in my breasts hasn't gone away, in fact if anything, it's gotten
worse, and they have begun to feel a bit swollen and taught. I went to the
clinic this morning, and they took x-rays, but they showed nothing suspicious or
unhealthy. They wanted to do a complete physical, but I immediately imagined
myself the center of a major medical inquiry, locked in a lab somewhere. I
panicked and got out of there as fast as I could without raising suspicion. I
am not sure, but I think they (my breasts) have grown some, too. I'm relieved,
but still concerned. Jurgen came home pretty tired today, and it was all I
could do to hold up my end in bed. I was still tired (and sore, I admit) from
the night before! We are having sex more often and longer, than we ever did,
even when everything was normal, just to keep him up and going. Despite that,
he is still not back up to full steam.
August 20th.
Dear Diary,
Mystery solved, with happy consequences. I am lactating! Jurgen was sucking on
my nipples last night, and to his surprise, got milk. And guess what! It seems
to be even more energizing (if not nearly so stimulating) as my come, and he
swears it is delicious and better than cow's milk. I tried some, and was
unimpressed- very sweet, though. The greedy hunk sucked me dry though, and low
and behold, the discomfort disappeared. I guess I know something of what it
feels like to be a mommy now. Oh, and they are quite definitely larger,
probably from all that milk they have to store.
Today, a package arrived in the mail from one of our fetish goods suppliers, but
Jurgen had anticipated it's arrival and forbade me to open it. He said it
wasn't finished, and he would have to work on it before he would be ready to
show it off. I think I know something of what he is up to. This evening, he
took off for work on the excuse that he had left some important papers at the
office. After he left, I noticed the parcel was missing. Men are so
transparent.
When he got back, he finally revealed what he had done. He had had two pairs of
custom "adoration breeches" made- those rubber pants with a hood attached at the
crotch, so someone can be "forced" to service you orally. These were mutually
useful, in that the helmet was attached upside-down, so that two people could be
wearing _each_other's_ breeches! They are made of very heavy rubber, and have
plenty of breathing holes around the crotch and nose. Plus, he took one of his
own suits to work and exposed it to the same program. We tested these toys out
and they all work in exactly the same fashion as my suit used to.
Speaking of that suit, he has finished putting in the new zipper, which is small
but strong, and air-tight- it's made for diver's "dry suits". He will expose the
suit tomorrow during lunch. He is getting quite brazen, I think, but he seems
worried about getting access to the machine- apparently the higher-ups are
tightening security. Seems asinine to me, after all, he invented the thing!
I can't wait to try these new things of his this weekend!
Anyway, I'm very happy to see him rosy-cheeked and brimming over with energy.
August 23rd
Dear Diary. It is Sunday, a day of rest for both Christians and my husband and
I. It is also a day to reflect on bad news, and our very good luck. Friday,
Jurgen took my suit and a whole pile of other things into work in that huge
briefcase of his. He got them modified all right, and back into his case, but
he also got caught by one of the new managers who demanded to know what he was
doing in that part of the lab.
My dear retorted, rather hotly of course, that he had developed that machine,
and he had more right to be there than the paper pusher did. That was when the
general walked in. That's right, general, as in Army officer. It seems that
some word had gotten out, the military had got wind of his little invention, and
the place was crawling with military spook-types. They were sewing the project
up tight as fast as they could.
He barely made it off the site with the goodies without getting his bags
inspected, but the guards are just rent-a-cops so far, and they aren't used to
the new procedures they are supposed to be following. In other words, he got
lucky.
Jurgen has already protested bitterly about the militarization of the project
and the lab, but I think he realizes it was only a matter of time. He has
threatened to quit his job, which means retirement really, which I wouldn't mind
one bit, but I don't think they are taking him seriously. I know better- I saw
the expression on his face while he was yelling at the senior lab manager on the
phone Friday night.
Anyway, we spent a delightful day lying in the sun yesterday. Sounds so
peaceful and innocent, doesn't it? Hee-hee! Of course, what really happened
was much more prurient, and if the truth be told, quite out of the realm of
everyday human sensuality. I think most people would have considered it a
religious experience. What we shared yesterday, the places we reached inside
each other, cannot be expressed in words. I'll explain it in physical terms
though, just to get the hot little details down between your steaming pages.
As I wrote here before, Jurgen had made (or rather, had ordered) those two pairs
of adoration pants from Remma-wear, and had modified his own suit with the DSM
to be just like mine. We experimented with it some on Friday night, during a
little stress-relief session of love making. His suit is just like mine used to
be, neck-entry, which can be used with different hoods. Naturally, he exposed
several hoods and the suit separately, so we wouldn't wind up with the material
flowing together like mine did. I wonder how... oh, never mind.
In any case, I picked up two breast pumps, those things nursing mothers
sometimes use, and Jurgen has made a bizarre "milking machine" brassiere out of
them. They are built into an old heavy-gauge rubber brassier of mine, with the
original cups removed. He's attached hoses to each one, which go to a small
suction pump and some kind of valve that pulses the suction. The thing felt
weird yet wonderful at first, and seemed to make my breasts swell up even more,
but once the milk started flowing, it was a great relief- now I can milk myself
and save it for him for later. Which is precisely what I had done Friday night-
saved a whole pitcher of milk. Jurgen has always been the top in our
relationship, which is fine with me, but he agreed to let me put him in his
"rigidized" suit, just to see what it was like. (We found out, a little to his
chagrin, that light falling on the suit doesn't do a thing for him, as mine does
for me, but that's small loss considering what he _does_ have that I don't.)
So anyway, I had a brainstorm, and fetched the milk. Not only did I pour it
into the suit with him, letting him squirm around in it for a while, but I
hooked up an enema bag and hose, ran it into his helmet in place of the
breathing tube, and "force fed" him his dinner. He loved it! From the noises
he was making, I'm sure he would have been thrashing around if it hadn't been
for the solid restraint of his suit. Later, he told me that even having the
milk against his skin had felt wonderful, with powerful tingling sensations and
flashes of sexual warmth coming from his skin, as if he was absorbing it without
even swallowing it. Well who knows, maybe he is. He said he came for what felt
like minutes.
The breast size thing is starting to bug me, however. When I milked myself
yesterday, I gave more milk than I ever have before and yet looking in the
mirror afterwards, I realized my tits were bigger _still_, even though I had
drained them completely. I have already reduced the hormone dosage, because I'm
quite happy with them the way they are. Of course, Jurgen, being somewhat of a
breast fetishist, is tickled pink.
So anyway, I haven't described Saturday yet, our big day of decadence. We had
planned it all the night before, lying in bed and talking after our little
session Friday. We got up early, just before dawn in fact, and made our
preparations. We took a big air mattress that we used to keep around for guests
out onto the back lawn, laid blankets out and so forth, and then got dressed.
We each put on our special suits, and one pair of the adoration breeches, and
went outside to await the sunrise.
As the sky grew lighter, I grew lighter-headed, and before the sun was even up,
it was becoming very difficult to concentrate on the job at hand, and both our
suits were becoming slightly stiff. We moved fast. I lay on my back on the
mattress, while Jurgen crawled on top and astride me, then we each struggled
into the helmet of the other's adoration pants.
We moved around a bit, getting comfortable, each of us with the other's sex in
our mouth, while the sky grew lighter and the suits and pants got stiffer. In
minutes, we were trapped, the rubber turned rigid, and as the first rays of the
direct sun fell on me, I completely forgot what I had filling my mouth. I was
in ecstasy again. Of course, as part of that, I lubricated freely, and Jurgen
slurped it up greedily, his groans and moans reaching me faintly through the
layers of rubber and my own personal haze of pleasure. At some point, I
remember felating him in a distracted sort of way, and I know we both came many,
many times that day, some of those times seeming to blur into one long,
continuous, and simultaneous orgasm for both of us. We must have made one very
bizarre looking piece of lawn sculpture, had anyone been able to see us.
By the time we could move again, as the last shreds of daylight fled from our
lawn, we were both physical and emotional wrecks- very happy, sated, but utterly
drained and exhausted.
Which delightful state we are still in today. A deep lassitude and happy
paralysis having taken us, we are lazing around in bed, not really wanting to do
anything at all. Jurgen is sketching, toying with some new ideas for bondage
gear, although it seems obvious that we will no longer have access to the DSM,
while I am writing in your cherished pages. My eyes are getting heavy again
though, so I think I shall close for today. Right now, I feel like napping.
September 19th.
Well now. I seem to have a dilemma. My breasts have continued to develop at an
alarming rate, considering how few days have passed. I have gone from a D cup
to a DDD in less than a month. I'm not sure if that would normally be possible,
even with the hormones, but of course, I no longer have what anyone would call a
normal physiology. I have had to change bra sizes twice in thirty days, and
while the cost is no problem for us, I'm wondering where it will all stop! It
is good that so much of my kinky wardrobe is made from latex, which has
tremendous stretch, since I am busting out of many of my leather outfits. I
have reduced the hormone dosage even further, and Jurgen has begun to complain
that I'm not secreting enough for him, but I don't know what to do. I can't
just keep getting larger, can I?
PS: Jurgen quit his job at the lab. We are now the youngest retired couple I
know of, and very happy at that. They seem to have wanted to buy his silence,
since they offered him a _huge_ "bonus" for his work on the machine. He was
going to refuse, out of anger and pride, but I talked some sense into him,
pointing out that we could retire quite comfortably on that amount alone, and
that having it on top of his handsome retirement income would make life very
comfortable indeed.
September 29th.
Ten days, and another cup size. This is getting ridiculous. I'm huge! I
haven't gained any weight any where else, even though that is a common side
effect of these hormones, according to the books. My breasts are now the size
of honeydew melons, and my chest is some 50 inches around. I can't find any
brassieres in town that are large enough. Fortunately, one of the foundation
shops gave me the address and phone number of a company that hand makes odd and
extra large sizes, but when I called them, their prices were so high, Jurgen
commented that I might as well just have custom made rubber and leather bras
made. I think I'll do both- after all, I can go out again now, (although we are
still debating how to handle my reappearance) and I'd like to have some normal
bras as well, since wearing fetish clothes all the time takes away from their
spice- one gets used to them.
It is good that Jurgen bought the larger size of breast pumps (which he made
into my "milking machine") because I am nearly filling them now.
October 8th.
No noticeable change in breast size this week. I am keeping my fingers crossed.
Jurgen is having to make do with less from my sex, but he gets more real
nourishment from my milk anyway. As my bust size has grown, it has become more
and more pleasurable to be milked, to the point that I nearly go out of my head
with arousal and lust during the procedure- I came just from having my breasts
pumped today! What's worse (or better, depending on how you look at it) is that
my milk production seems to have gone up proportionately to my bust size, so
that I now need milking at least twice a day. I feel like a dairy cow! Jurgen
is delighted with my new figure (he _would_ be) and I admit, I am getting used
to it, although I still feel like a freak of nature. I have kept the rest of me
in shape though, and when corsetted, I cut a very imposing, if somewhat
unbelievable figure!
We have decided to announce to friends and family that we are getting back
together, that the "divorce" was all a horrible mistake, and that my ridiculous
breast enlargement is the result of a rare hormonal disorder. I hope they buy
it. If not, they can just wonder, because they'll never hear the truth from us!
My sweet heart finally got around to showing off some of the other items he had
"treated" with the DSM before they shut him out of the lab. The most striking
was the clear rubber suit. He had made one of my regular suits crystal clear,
just like that sample he had done. It's weird and eerie- when I wear it, it
looks like I've been coated with glass. We both love the look.
Another interesting pair are the gloves and stockings. Remember that inverted
form of the light-sensitive rubber he came up with? He dialed that in and
treated a pair of my thicker gloves, and a pair of old but heavy gauge
stockings. He also treated a thick rubber leotard with the other program. So
if I wear them, I can move my arms and legs when the light is on, but my torso
is held rigid. When the light goes out, they turn rigid, and my torso is free
to bend.
This morning he had me put my suit on, put one stocking on my right leg, and one
glove on the left arm, then commanded me to make brunch. But the fiend had
turned all the lights in the house topsy-turvy, with one room dark, blinds
drawn, and the next brightly lit. Imagine trying to walk around like that, when
one leg and one arm is stuck in one position for a while, and moments later,
they are free and the others are stuck! The kitchen was worse (and even more
comical to watch I am sure) since we have track lighting there, and he had
turned them in all different directions, but had taken the bulbs out of the main
area lights.
Needless to say, I was hot, tired and frustrated by the time the food was ready,
but the dear rewarded me nicely this afternoon however, so I have forgiven him.
November 11th.
We have decided to move. Jurgen is afraid we will both find ourselves in hot
water, if the truth is ever discovered about the changes he has wrought in our
physiologies. The house is on the market, and as soon as it is sold, we are
moving to Amsterdam. Life has gotten awfully busy as a result, so this may be
the last entry in a long while.
fini
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