|Latex Pleasure Doll by Stefanie Perkins M/m; fem; latex; rubberdoll; object; mc; oral; cons; X|
"How could any self-respecting person allow someone to do that to them?"
I was in a neighborhood bar, right after work, in my male mode, seated (coincidentally) next to a very attractive 40-something female. The TV behind the bar was tuned to the local news. The feature on at that moment was the story of a rather hot-looking young lady, who had been severely beaten, ending up in the hospital. The perpetrator, as it turned out, was her live-in boyfriend.
"The guy is a bastard," I offered. "Any guy that would hit a woman is lower than scum."
"Well it's probably her fault too," my bar companion replied. "Any woman that would be in the company of a man who has the potential to do that has a screw loose too."
"I don't know," I countered, suddenly thinking of "stefi" and some of her past dalliances. "For some women, the attention they get makes putting up with a little abuse worthwhile."
"Bullshit," the lady replied, ending the conversation.
But the conversation didn't end. Instead, as i retreated into myself, it continued in my mind with "stefi."
"You're right, baby," she said to me, in her lilting, breathy voice. "It feels so good to be wanted and desired. If a guy really wants you, and you really want him, you'll let him do whatever he wants."
"Yes, stefi," i replied within myself.
She continued: "Nothing could be sexier than being turned into nothing more than a sex object by and for a guy that really wants you. Isn't that true?"
"Imagine," she continued, "being turned into a rubber sex doll for his pleasure. No human wants and needs. No conflicts. No pressure. Molded into his perfect sex object, according to his particular wants and needs... existing only for his pleasure... immune to any other concerns or personal needs... just wanting to look like... act like... whatever brought him pleasure... your only purpose being to provide for His pleasure..."
Her words, in my head, were taking on a hypnotic cadence... i knew the words even before i heard them in my head... i was totally focused... on my need to provide pleasure.
i moaned aloud, as i got up to leave the bar.
The woman to whom i'd been speaking just a few minutes before, had a look on her face somewhere between concern, fear, and bafflement. As i departed through the swinging door on the way out, i glanced over my shoulder and saw that both she and the female bartender were still staring in my direction.
Going straight home, i stripped off my clothes, showered, shaved my legs and body, then generously powdered myself. Going to my walk-in closet, i removed my full coverage, latex catsuit, latex corset, latex mask and wig. In moments i was sealed from the concerns of the world by the thin, smooth, shiny covering. Using the door knob as an anchor, i looped the laces of the corset over the handle and began slowly cinching my waist in. As i leaned away from the door; one, two, three, four inches of my waistline vanished as if by magic, leaving the stunning figure of a rubber-clad female sex object standing there, barely able to breathe. With difficulty, due to the restrictions imposed by the tight latex, i brought my wig up to my head, and adjusted it into place.
Mincing precariously into my office, i turned on my computer at exactly 6:00 PM.
"Hello, my slut," was the message that came almost immediately onto my screen.
"Hello, Sir," i typed back.
"Are you ready for me, dressed as instructed?"
"I will be there in five minutes."
Without knocking, he walked through my front door exactly five minutes later... with a friend. As previously instructed by him, i did not rise or acknowledge their presence; i just sat there, un-moving; nothing except a life-sized, latex fuck doll. Even had i wished to move, i would have been unable to do so, conditioned--as i was--not to disobey his instructions.
"Holy shit," the friend said, looking me up and down.
"You may use her mouth in any way you want," my Master said.
He began by planting a deep passionate kiss on my latex lips. I made no effort to resist or even move; it wouldn't have mattered had i tried.
"Do anything you want to her," my Master told his friend. "She's not a real woman."
i didn't know if he meant i wasn't a genetic woman of if he meant i wasn't a person. It didn't matter. i was totally limp as his friend pushed me roughly to the floor. He then inserted his maleness into my always-open "O"-shaped mouth.
All that mattered to me was that i was wanted sexually and being used sexually.
Un-moving, un-feeling, i was fulfilled.
You can visit Steffi' blog here
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