© Copyright 2017 - PlastiClown - Used by permission
Storycodes: MF/m; F/f; captives; mc; plasticwear; rainwear; aprons; transform; majick; m2doll; f2doll; plastic; toy; punchbag; hum; preg; mast; sex; climax; cons/reluct; X
In the story "Schauerkappe" the narrator described how, through a series of errors, he had become Marla Schauerkappe's plastic prisoner, had been turned into an inflatable woman by Marla's teenaged son Dale, and made pregnant with a raincoat, and then, after giving birth to the new raincoat and discovering that Marla and her husband Beaubeau had captured themselves a new pair of inflated plastic prisoners, was scheduled to be married to Dale. This is how the wedding went.
I was Marla Schauerkappe's inflated plastic prisoner, a living blow-up slavedoll. Trapped in the Schauerkappes' big ranch-style house in an upscale neighborhood, I could be found wearing either my own transparent-blue plastic raincoat with its pixie-style hood or, if I was serving Marla as her maid at the time, a transparent-black plastic raincoat with a Peter Pan collar and a knee-length serving apron made of transparent-white plastic covered with a delicate lace pattern in opaque white. Putting on that apron made me think of the song "I Enjoy Being a Girl" from the movie "Flower Drum Song":
When she hands me a frilly apron
and its long ruffled skirt unfurls
I know that she really wants me
just to feel like one of the girls.
I had originally been a man, but Marla and Beaubeau's teenaged son Dale had turned me into a woman so that he could play with me in bed. He had inadvertently made me pregnant with a copy of my own raincoat and yesterday I had given birth to the copy. I thought that my captors would reverse the sex change, but instead they introduced me to their new plastic prisoners, Rubburt and Fleta Minderflyss, and told me that I was going to be married to Dale.
Now it was the morning of my wedding day and I was in Marla's bedroom getting ready to be a plastic bride. I had taken off my raincoat and put on the white camisole and half slip that Marla gave me. Then Marla gave me her own raincoat to wear as a wedding dress. Made of limp, skin-smooth, transparent-white plastic that had little white and silver starbursts printed on it, it was a perfect plastic bridal gown. Before I could pull the pixie-style hood up over the Queen of France shower cap that had been used to catalyze my transformation into a blow-up slavedoll, she handed me another shower cap and told me to put it on.
I thought that was rather odd. It was a Charlotte Corday style shower cap made of limp, skin-smooth, opaque cream-white plastic that had what looked like fern patterns printed on it in black. Those patterns seemed to shimmer slightly. It wasn't all that much different from the beret-style cap made of transparent-azure plastic that I was already wearing. With a mental shrug, I put it on and suddenly I heard a soft voice saying, "...why she wants me to wear a second... Oh."
"That's a vocalizer," Marla said. "It makes your thoughts audible so you can talk to people. You'll need it for the wedding."
"Oh, OK," I said. Then I remembered I had decided and saw that the vocalizer would make it easier. Last night I had been kept in the prison room, the guest bedroom where the Schauerkappes kept their inflatable toys, and I had contemplated what was about to happen to me. I saw a compensating opportunity and had decided to pursue it.
"Marla," I said, "please, may I wear your apron with this ensemble? And may I borrow it tonight so that Dale can get me pregnant with a copy?"
She looked at me in open-mouthed astonishment.
"Please," I repeated. "I know what he's going to do to me tonight and I want to feel more feminine for him."
At that she said, "Stay here," and left the room. She returned a few minutes later carrying her big plastic pinafore draped over her arm. Transparent-white speckled with pink, pale-blue, and straw-yellow lollidots, the limp, skin-smooth plastic seemed to radiate a warmth of its own. I had already pulled the hood of her raincoat up over the vocalizer, so she held the apron up and slipped the halterneck over my head.
I couldn't help myself. "With this apron I thee wed...," I thought and she heard me.
"...so I can fuck your ass in bed," she said and we both giggled.
I pulled the apron's ties around my waist and tied them in front of me in a neat bow. Then we went to work preparing for the wedding. We spent the rest of the morning and the early afternoon getting everything ready. At the time that school let out, just before Dale and his sister Sharon got home, Marla took me to the laundry room.
"It's bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding," she said as she held up something that I at first mistook for the sash-style belt of a raincoat. It was made of transparent-gray doubled-plastic ribbons about an inch wide and it didn't look like anything familiar. It was a two-foot length of ribbon attached to the middles of two shorter ribbons that had split ends held together with soft rubber magnetic patches welded into the plastic, like the ones on the front of my raincoat only larger. I knew that I wouldn't be able to pull these patches apart and then I saw what that meant: Marla was about to bind me with shackles made for an inflated plastic slavedoll.
Marla knelt down and put the lower fetters on my ankles and then stood up to bind my wrists with the upper fetters. Then she left and closed the door.
Soon I heard the sounds of Dale and Sharon coming home. About an hour after that I started hearing other people arriving and my cheeks got warm with embarrassment: it was one thing to look like a rubber fool for my captors and quite another thing to have a larger audience for my clownish appearance, never mind the humiliating ritual I was about to endure.
All too soon Marla came to the laundry room and escorted me into the kitchen. Because of the shackles I could only shuffle instead of walk. We went into the dining room and waited. Through the latticework that separated the dining room from the living room I saw that our makeshift wedding chapel was full.
Then we heard the famous "Bridal Chorus" from Wagner's "Lohengrin" and Marla took my right arm and escorted me into the living room and down the aisle. About a dozen people stood on the groom's side of the aisle and the same number of inflated plastic slavedolls stood on the bride's side. I felt the humiliation of a slave being taken to the auction block. It wasn't an auction, of course; it was more of an ownership transfer being acted out as a parody of a wedding, which is itself a parody of a slave ownership transfer (In ye olden days it wasn't a parody - PC). We came to a certain point and stopped.
Beaubeau, who was officiating, said, "Who gives this prisoner away?"
"Her owner and mistress," Marla replied.
"Let the prisoner step forward," Beaubeau said and I shuffled forward to stand on the left focus of an elliptical mandala-like pattern woven into the carpet. I knew that if someone stepped on the other focus of the ellipse, an invisible force would rise up out of the floor and hold me upright so that I might be used as a punching bag. Next to me stood Dale in his pajamas and transparent-black plastic raincoat.
"Dearly beloved," Beaubeau said, "and warmly inflated, we are gathered here to witness and to celebrate the utter humiliation of a plastic prisoner and the triumph of her new master.
"Through no fault of his own, Peter Penn became our inflated slavedoll...." (Peter Penn?! What were his parents thinking? Musta had a really weird sense of humor - PC). He went on to describe my misadventure with the Schauerkappe family. When he finished, he told Dale and me to face each other and clasp hands.
"Do you, Dale Schauerkappe, take this inflated plastic prisoner to be your personal slave; to have and to hold; to use for your pleasure only; to embarrass and to humiliate until death do you part?"
Dale looked into my eyes and said, "I do."
To me Beaubeau said, "Do you, Petra Penn, understand that you are this man's slave; that you are his property, to be used as he sees fit; that your will is not yours but his; that you must obey him in all things and question him in none; that you are hereby humiliated for his sake?"
Trembling, I looked into Dale's eyes and said "I do."
Beaubeau told Dale, "Enslave the bride!"
Dale stepped his foot onto the free focus of the ellipse and I felt the forcefield rise up and trap me. Again I was effectively a bounce-back punching bag.
"With this act I thee wed," Dale said, "that thou mayest show thy submission and subservience to me."
"By the authority vested in me through the power of the plastifier wand," Beaubeau said, "I hereby pronounce you master and slave. You may bop the bride."
Dale jabbed me in the chest, I tipped over backward, and bounced back up as if eager to serve my new master. I suppose that's how everyone saw the meaning of the ritual. He jabbed me a second time and a third and then allowed me to bounce up against him and kiss the warm plastic of his raincoat. When I stopped wobbling he stepped on the pattern to retract the forcefield and we turned to face the congregation.
"Ladies and gentlemen, prisoners and slaves," Beaubeau said, "I present to you Master Dale Schauerkappe and Slave Petra Penn."
The congregation applauded, the Recessional played, and Dale shuffled me back to the dining room. Then the reception began. I tried to stay with Dale but, still shackled, I couldn't keep up with him. Eventually I was cornered by a ditzy blond woman.
"This must be terribly humiliating for you," she said happily.
I agreed that it was and added, "But there's no way I can get out of it or could have avoided it."
"Well, that's the whole point, now, isn't it?" she said gleefully. "It's your weakness and helplessness against your master's power that's so appealing."
I had to agree with her and then listen to her go on about how she had plastified the fat boy who had been bullying her son and given him to her son as a punching bag. Then the reception was over and people gathered by the sofa for the final act. I was called over to the sofa and became intensely aware of everyone staring at me as I shuffled across the room. At the end of the sofa Dale took the shackles off of me, rolled them up, and handed them to me. Like a bride tossing her bouquet, I tossed the shackles back over my shoulder. Sharon caught them and I heard people saying that she would soon have a plastic prisoner of her own. Dale then took me to his bedroom at the rear of the house as the guests began leaving.
He carried me across the threshold, set me down, and closed the door. I saw that my raincoats and apron had been brought to his room and laid on a chair by my side of the bed.
"Well, now I'm your plastic prisoner," I said as he turned to face me.
"Yeah," he said apologetically. He still wasn't used to the vocalizer and I was afraid he would take it away from me. "I didn't really mean for that to happen, but Mom insisted."
"It's OK," I said. "You've been nice to me. If I have to be an inflated slavedoll, I want to be yours." I stepped forward until our bellies were pressed together. "I'm going to be in love with you." I put my hands on his shoulders to brace myself as I kissed him. I felt something beginning to poke my underbelly. "The first thing I want to give you is a wedding night with a hot plastic bride, but I want to ask a little favor."
"What is it?" he said with a trembling voice.
"Please, Dale," I begged, "please get me pregnant with your mother's apron."
"Yeah, sure, OK," he said. "Just get into bed."
I went to my side of the bed, took Marla's apron off, and laid it on the bed. I took off Marla's raincoat, half slip, and camisole, put them on the chair with my raincoats and apron, then put Marla's apron back on. I got into bed and pulled the skirt of the apron above my waist so that Dale wouldn't kneel on it and tear it.
Dale had taken off his raincoat and clothes. Wearing only his underpants, he was preparing to turn out the light.
"Dale," I called quietly, "please show me what you're going to do to me."
He took off his underpants and turned around. I saw his penis standing up long and straight, the glans blushing from the pressure.
"Oh, Dale," I sighed, "that's going to feel so good inside of me."
He turned out the light, got into bed, and got on top of me. I took his penis in hand and guided it into my vagina as he came down on me. The sensation was that of someone stroking my scrotum from the base up, because that's what my vagina used to be before Dale put the sex change on me. I felt my clitoris, formerly my penis, stiffen and the heat of sexual arousal filled me.
"Oh, Dale," I sighed over and over as he began pumping me.
The dear boy tried to give me some foreplay, but I had gotten him too excited. In less than a minute I felt hot fluid squirting into me in spurts. The lack of foreplay didn't matter: whenever fresh semen touches my inner plastic I climax long and hard as I absorb it. I bucked and writhed under Dale as he bounced on me. Then Dale went limp and it was over.
The heat inside me faded to a gentle glow that told me I was pregnant again and I stroked the plastic of Marla's apron. I had an apron and a vocalizer growing inside me and whenever Dale squirted a load of his jizz into me they would get a little bigger and I would get a little fatter. The thought made me want to play with myself, but I had to wait.
After a time Dale got off of me, rolled over, and went to sleep. I knew that he was a heavy sleeper, so I was free for the rest of the night. I took off the vocalizer and got out of bed. I went to the inflated chair by Dale's life-sized Robin punching bag, sat down, and masturbated with Marla's apron. For over an hour I made myself happy with that big, fat, rubbery-feeling pinafore. Then I took off the apron and put on Marla's raincoat. I must have played with that for nearly two hours before I got too tired. I took off the raincoat, put the vocalizer back on, and got back into bed.
The next morning Dale got me again, then he got up, got dressed, and left. I slept in a bit, then got up and made up the bed. I folded Marla's things and stacked them with her apron on top. Then I put on my maid's raincoat and apron and took the stack to the kitchen to give it to Marla.
"Thank you for letting me borrow these," I said as I handed her the stack, "and especially thank you for letting me get pregnant with your apron."
"Are you...?" she asked.
I bowed my head and ran my hands over my belly. "Yes, I'm pregnant."
"You seem to be taking this rather well," she said, "for a fucking bag."
"Dale's a sweet boy," I said as I began helping her with the chores. "I like making him happy," was all I could think of to add.
Marla simply gave me a quizzical look.
Together we cleaned up the mess from the wedding. I noticed that instead of putting the wedding paraphernalia away, she merely set it aside. I found out why the next day. Sharon was not being neglected.
I was in the kitchen and I heard a girl crying. I went into the dining room and looked through the latticework grille. I saw Marla, wearing her apron, holding a naked teenaged girl by the wrist and dragging her down the hall to the living room. I caught a glimpse of the valve stem jutting from the left side of the girl's neck and saw that she was wearing a vocalizer like mine.
"No!" the girl wailed. "I'm not a slave! You can't do this to me!" She tried to scream, "Let me go!" but the vocalizer won't produce loud sounds, so her scream came out at the volume of a normal conversation.
Marla dragged the squirming girl to the holding spot, put her on one focus, then let go of her wrist at the instant she stepped on the other focus. The girl let out a yelp as she was jerked upright and her hands slapped against the sides of her thighs.
"Don't do this to me!" the girl cried. "I don't wanna be Sharon's prisoner! I won't be her slave! I won't! I won't! I won't!"
"Then you'll be my punching bag," Marla said.
The girl grunted as she made a deep bow over the fist that Marla punched into her belly. She sprang back up, bounced off Marla's fist as lightly as a beach ball, then tipped over backwards to hit the floor with a soft whap. In less than a heartbeat she bounced back up as if she were eager for Marla to punch her again. And Marla did punch her again. And again. With a rapid bap-bap-bap Marla kept the girl bouncing gaily up and down.
The girl's crying became hysterical. "Stop it! Stop it!" she shrieked. "Stop punching me! Let me go!"
I knew from experience that the punches weren't causing any pain. All the girl was feeling was a jolt as Marla's fist hit her inflated-taut plastic. She was responding mostly to the humiliation.
"Stop punching me!" the girl cried. "Let me go! I promise I'll stop bullying Sharon! Just let me go!"
"Not a chance, Tiffany," Marla said. "You're my plastic prisoner and that's not going to change. You're my punching bag. I'm going to keep you on a holding spot in my bedroom and when I'm feeling cranky I'll just punch the stuffing out of you. I'll dribble you like a basketball."
So that was Tiffany Vanderschmuck, the upper-class snob/twit who had been bullying Sharon at school. Like all bullies, she crumbled when faced with a stiff dose of her own medicine. Nonetheless, I had to feel a little pity for her: a typical bully is a psychological Potemkin village, a weak soul putting up a false front to prevent people from discovering that he (or she) is a useless nobody. Tiffany would actually be better off as an inflatable slavedoll.
"No, no, no!" Tiffany cried. "Please stop punching me! I'll be Sharon's slave! Just don't punch me any more! Pleeease!"
Marla stopped punching Tiffany and said, "If you mean that, say it as a promise."
"I promise," Tiffany sobbed, "that I'll submit to being Sharon's slave."
Marla stepped on the toggle point to free Tiffany from the holding spot and said, "Kneel before your mistress and kiss her apron!"
Slowly, reluctantly, Tiffany went down on her knees and put her face into Marla's crotch.
"Do not betray my trust," Marla said, "or you will be a punching bag. Now get up and put on your raincoat and apron."
That was my cue to leave, lest Marla notice my presence. I went to the laundry room and went back to work. A few minutes later Marla brought Tiffany in. I saw that Tiffany's raincoat was made of transparent-yellow plastic that hung limp on her and displayed a wet-skin sheen. Her big pinafore apron was made of the same plastic with orange, blue, purple, and green lollidots printed on it. Marla put the plastic-ribbon shackles on Tiffany and then left, closing the door behind her.
Tiffany started crying again in deep wracking sobs. I held her until she had cried herself out, then I told her the story of my captivity in the Schauerkappe residence and what to expect at her wedding.
"How am I ever going to stand it?" she moaned.
"Be a punching bag," I suggested. "Just roll with the punches and bounce back up." (Oh, good. Amateur philosophy for inflatable dolls - PC).
Shortly before the wedding began, Dale came and took me to our bedroom. There he had me take off my maid's raincoat and apron and put on my transparent-blue plastic raincoat. Then he gave me a new apron. It was a big, fat full apron made of the same transparent-blue plastic as my raincoat. Brightly colored, thumbnail-sized flowers were printed on it and across the top of the skirt blobbery pink letters spelled out "Yes, I'm pregnant!" I put on the apron and we joined the congregation for the wedding.
I stood on the bride's side of the aisle with the other inflated slaves. Sharon, in her pajamas and transparent-green plastic raincoat, waited impatiently. Then the ceremony started and Marla escorted Tiffany to her doom. Tiffany cried through the whole ceremony, sobbing out her responses, but she didn't panic. At the reception I stayed with her to deflect the taunting that would be coming her way: my new apron made that easy.
After the removal of the shackles Sharon took Tiffany to her bedroom to play with her. All of the guests left after deflating their prisoners and putting them into overnight cases. Dale took me to our bedroom and essentially spent the entire night on top of me in bed. It was a good thing that the next day was Saturday, so that Dale could sleep in.
Some days later Tiffany told me what had happened after she and Sharon left the party.
When they got into Sharon's bedroom, Sharon took Tiffany's apron, raincoat, and vocalizer off of her and shoved her into bed. She took off her own raincoat, pajamas, and panties, put on her shower cap, then turned out the light and got into bed with her quivering prize. Moonlight filled the room with a soft glow, so Tiffany saw Sharon looming over her as Sharon half mounted her.
Her face framed by a soft, hair-filled plastic halo, Sharon kissed Tiffany. "I wore my shower cap for you so you could see what I would look like if I was your plastic prisoner," she said. "I used to dream about being your punching bag. I would bounce so gaily for you that you'd get all hot and want to lay on me. I would be so soft and helpless for you, so warm and pneumatic. But now I'm all hot and I'm going to lay on you."
She mounted Tiffany fully, sliding her right leg between Tiffany's legs and pressing her clitoris against the top of Tiffany's right thigh. She rubbed her breasts on Tiffany's and kissed the valve in Tiffany's neck to arouse her. Soon the two girls were writhing and squirming together and Tiffany was well on her way to falling in love with Sharon.
We made a weird group, the Schauerkappes, the Minderflysses, Tiffany, and I. We actually had fun together. I don't recommend being an inflated plastic slavedoll, but I came to enjoy it.
The idea of using a magic wand or rod to transform people into living inflated plastic dolls originated in a comic strip titled "The Little People". It was drawn by Walt Scott and appeared in syndication from 1952 to 1969. In one episode that I read in the Los Angeles Times in the late 1950's the characters encounter a hermit who uses a magic wand to turn people and animals into stone so that they won't disturb his solitude. It's not a great leap of the imagination to reconceive that wand to turn people into plastic dolls, but very few people have done it.
There must be a desire for a plastifying wand, even if it's unarticulated. Such a device would be useful in conceiving sexual fantasies. Thus, someone whose sexual feelings are aroused by plastic film (as in raincoats, aprons, and shower caps) will have a tacit yearning that may drive the associative part of the mind to abstract the basic properties of the wand and replace stone with plastic. A little more is required, but the process is easy to lay out. In this way my fantasies expanded as I developed "new technology" for them.
That may seem utterly useless, but the process I exercised in expanding my sexual fantasies also exercised the part of my mind that solves other problems. And therein lies the value of this thinking. It's easy exercise that prepares my mind for more demanding work.
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