“Honey, the hell is that?”
The “that” I was referring to was obvious: a half scale steel drum on a hand truck that she was wheeling into the house from the garage.
She grinned in a way that spoke of triumph and mischief. And Cupid's arrow pierced my heart like it did every time she smiled at me. Yes, I'm a fool for the love of her. “A surprise. Get the spray booth and the sprayer set up in the play room.”
“Latex?” I called over my shoulder as I headed to do as I had been told. My cock stirred a bit at the thought of being coated again. My skin hummed with the memory of the gradually growing gentle tightness as layers of liquid latex were applied and dried over my body, of brushes painting spots and whiskers, of the hours spent being the center of her world.
“Better!” She called after me. My mental gears ground almost to a halt at that. Better? What could be in a metal drum that's better than liquid latex? The mystery had my mind spinning its proverbial wheels in the mud while I went about setting up the spray booth. Well, we called it a spray booth because that's what we used it for. But its purpose in manufacture had been as a way for hospitals to quickly create quarantined spaces with controlled air flow and an airlock space. It was an ingenious thing made of heavy duty PVC. Just inflate to deploy, and you had a way to isolate patients in a place that otherwise didn't have the facilities to do proper isolation.
I'll spare you the details of the logistics of rolling out the inflatable quarantine, inflation, dragging out the compressor to run the air brush and the paint sprayer. Suffice to say it took some time, and in that time the love of my life made herself comfortable with a shower and slipping into something more exotic and entirely too sexy for the good health of my heart.
When she reappeared in my sight she wasn't wearing much, but what she was wearing was significant. White latex stockings clad and accentuated her legs. They had neither heel nor toes, exposing those parts of her feet. To some this might seem a bit silly, but given those were the places where stockings almost universally failed it made sense to simply eliminate them and prevent the tears in those places from ever beginning. It didn't hurt that I enjoyed the sight of her exposed toes with their blue polish that was a match to the color of her eyes. She didn't “get” my adoration of those toes, but she was happy to indulge it, and allowed them to peek out whenever it was reasonable. There was a thin blue accent stripe at the top of the welt of those stockings, to which attached the suspenders of a white latex garter belt. Said garter sat just over her hips and did a marvelous job of accentuating the curve of her body there. The only other article she wore was a blue trimmed white latex bolero. Its sleeves came down in a point over the backs of her hands and anchored there with a ring around a finger. In total, the outfit did a tremendous job of accentuating what it didn't cover.
Her copper red hair was up in a working bun and still damp from the shower. From her the sweet mingled scent of clean and latex filled the space. Her makeup was simple, a little sharp, the effect brought out the brightness of her eyes and the planes of her face. Her lips were glossy and inviting, blue to match her eyes and the trim of her outfit.
I stood very still, drinking in the sight of her as she walked up to me and whispered in my ear, her voice low and husky and commanding. “Go wheel that drum in here. Then get naked for me… Slut.” The way she said it, simultaneously possessive and full of desire, the little pause before that very last word; it slid down my spine, made me shiver and I emitted a tiny whine without even realizing it. It wasn't degrading or mean spirited. It was calling a spade a spade. Because for her, that's what I was. I would gladly do whatever she wished of me. Because my greatest pleasure was to be the thing that was making her happy, bringing her joy and pleasure; whether it was emotional or physical.
“Yes ma'am.”
When I returned with the drum she was finishing setting up the spray equipment to handle whatever mystery liquid I was bringing to her. As I set it in place she got up and poured husky words in my ear again. “Undress slowly. Put on a show. I want to watch my meat move.”
I didn't have a response more coherent than to nod and obey. I hadn't been wearing anything on my feet when she came home, and even though I should have put boots on to move the barrel, I didn't. So the first thing off was my shirt. I turned around, so my back faced her, grabbed the hem and slowly pulled it off over my head, making sure to tense and flex muscles as I tugged the fabric off my body. I'm in good shape, not like an olympian or a professional athlete, but I swim. I swim a lot. So I'm lean, and I have that sort of build. You know the one when you see it, broad shoulders, narrow hips, tight core.
She made a small sound of appreciation for what she saw and I continued. My pants came off when I undid the buckle, button, and zipper; hooked my thumbs into the waist and pulled them down by bending straight over and putting my ass on full display. Said posterior was still clad in a pair of stretchy shiny dark green boyshorts. They're supposedly for the ladies, but I'll be damned if they weren't the comfiest undies I had ever owned and wore. I stepped out of my pants and kicked them to the side, turned around to face my wife and did a little pose.
She smiled. “You really are beautiful. Underwear too.”
I managed not to blush. The boyshorts came off. I stepped one leg out, then flicked them off the foot that was still in them. A thousand times before I had done this when getting undressed to get in the shower. A thousand times before I had caught my underwear without even thinking about it. This time, I missed. I scowled at them on the floor as if they'd insulted my mother.
My beautiful wife laughed. And seeing she had my attention made a spinning motion with her finger. So I turned in place, shimmied a bit, put myself on display like I was trying to sell myself to the highest bidder.
“I am so glad you keep yourself hairless. You know just how I like it. Whore.”
“Whores charge. I do it for the love of the game. I'm a Slut and you know it.”
It was a habitual exchange. And we both smiled at it. “So you are. And you're my slut. Now, Slut, stand here, and stand still while I get to spraying you.”
“Speaking of. What's in the barrel that's better than latex?”
“I am so glad you asked.” While she started talking she applied a bit of petroleum jelly to my eyebrows and eye lids. “It's what I've been working on for the last eight months. It's going to make my company a ton of money. I'll try not to use chemist jargon. Basically it's a spray on plastic that polymerizes when directly exposed to temperatures higher than about 85 degrees Fahrenheit.” She put down the jar of petroleum jelly and picked up the small air brush but didn't start applying the liquid yet. “It's going to feel cold initially. That's because it's absorbing your heat and polymerizing. Once it does, it's low friction, almost unbelievably resistant to solvents of all kinds, and has ridiculous mechanical characteristics. Hold out your arm.”
I held out my arm and she sprayed a line across the inside of it. As she had said, it was cold for a moment, like having an ice cube drug across your skin. But it was only for a moment, and after that my skin warmed right up to normal again. What was left on my skin by the little air brush was a glossy black line. No, that's sort of an understatement. It was very glossy, and very black. It was the sort of deep mirror-glossed black of the sides of a grand piano.
She picked at the edge of the line, then pulled it off of me. My skin stretched before the black stuff let go. It wasn't as bad as something like surgical tape, but it certainly had some staying power. I imagined what I was going to look like, coated in this stuff, what it would feel like to have every inch covered in this tight plastic; and my cock rose.
She smirked. “I guess I don't need to ask what you think of the idea. Don't worry, we've already done toxicity tests, it's entirely safe. Now, close your eyes. I'm going to start with your face and ears and neck, that will be the hardest part. It won't polymerize on the vaseline.”
And the process started. Streaks of cold blew over my face, only for my skin to warm up again. Back and forth, back and forth. Cold to warm, cold to warm. She kept it out of my hair with some cardboard. The cold was something of a shock to my ears and behind my ears, even though I was fully expecting it and knew exactly what was coming. She had me hold a vaseline covered piece of paper between my lips when she sprayed my mouth so they weren't sealed together.
“I want you under this coating for a while. Long enough you're going to need to drink and eat.”
“Oh really? Just how long are we talking?”
“I have plans for the weekend.”
My cock had begun to calm down. Had. Past tense.
When she was done coating my head, save my hair, eyebrows, and eyes she asked how I was doing, and how the coating felt.
“I feel fine. The plastic is tight.”
“How tight? Try to move your face. Pretend you're making Jim Carrey expressions.”
I tried, but had to stop a fair way short of fully opening my mouth of fully moving my eyebrows or any part of my face really; as going any farther felt like the plastic might start to tear or separate from my skin, and I told her so.
“Try harder. If it peels we can reapply.”
So I tried harder. Only to find out that I simply couldn't go any farther. The plastic now coating my face and neck would only stretch so far before it stopped. And try as I might, I couldn't overcome it, and it wouldn't let go. Thinking about how strong that meant the material was, kind of scared me a bit. “I can't go any farther. It won't let me. How strong is this stuff?”
She smiled. It was a proud smile. Which made sense. She'd been working on this stuff for eight months and apparently it was doing exactly what it was supposed to. “Like I said. Ridiculous mechanical characteristics. It'll stretch a bit. But it's not nearly as elastic as latex. Once it hits its elastic limit it takes a stupid amount of force to make it fail.” She wiped the vaseline and unpolymerized liquid plastic off my eyebrows and eye lids. “We refine it from grass. Grass! Every byproduct of the process is useful and either non toxic or easily neutralized. And it is profitably recyclable.”
“Okay. But how's it going to come off?” The edge of worry might have made it into my voice. I trusted her completely, but I was still worried. I knew I shouldn't be. I knew she'd already have it figured out. But I would be more comfortable knowing.
“Natural oils and sweat from your skin will cause it to separate and slough off after a while. Worst case you tug on it enough to get it to separate in one place, then pierce it with a needle inflator like you'd use for a basketball. Get some air between you and the plastic then go to town with a pair of scissors. You'll be fine. Promise.”
It was all I needed to hear and my worry melted away. “Full speed ahead.”
“Well, before that, there's a couple details I want you to take care of before I coat your hands and everything else.”
In short order she gave me a contact lens case. Inside were black sclera lenses. They weren't blackout lenses, the pupils were clear. But they were large and covered the entirety of the whites of my eyes once they were in. “Do I get to look in the mirror?”
“No. Not yet. Not until I'm done with you. I want to see your reaction to the full look.”
“K.”
“Now, spread your legs, hold up your arms, like we're doing latex.”
I assumed the position. And immediately regretted it the moment she tagged me with the large paint sprayer. I yelped and danced with the sudden cold over a large area.
She laughed, a full throated and amused sound. “Sorry. Sorry. Too much? Too cold?”
“Like you threw me under a cold shower! Less spray. Please!”
She narrowed the nozzle and we tried again. This time it was tolerable.
“Good, now close your eyes. I really want this to be a surprise for you.”
I did as I was told, and for the rest of the process I was only aware of what I could feel and hear and smell. The spray was cold again. She meticulously covered every square inch of my body. She even made sure to apply petroleum jelly to my sphincter and coated between my cheeks. Not even the soles of my feet were skipped. Although, at that time the 'low friction' quality of the material started to become a problem. That was quickly addressed and had already been prepared for by my lovely wife. How? She glued the grippy sole of those cheap slipper socks to the bottoms of my feet. It was primitive, but effective.
When she got to my cock she made sure I was fully erect before coating it. “I want to make sure you can fully perform this time.”
“And what does that mean? You're implying something else for another time?”
“Maybe at another time I'll make sure your cock is soft before I coat it and your entire pelvis a dozen layers deep, so no matter how aroused you get your cock won't even be able to twitch, or feel the hardest vibrations from my most powerful toys. What do you think?”
I whimpered, and my cock bobbed with excitement. She knows all my kinks and how to press every button I have.
“Thought you might enjoy the idea.”
Then something strange happened at my hips. She held something at each one, sprayed and used a blow dryer to finish whatever it was. I felt a bit of a weight when she was done, so she must have attached something to me somehow, but she wouldn't tell me what.
After the first coat, she did a second, which went much more quickly than the first, as it was confined to everything below the neck minus my cock and my hands, and whatever she had done at my hips didn't need to be repeated. Though she used the hair dryer there again.
“Okay. How do you feel? How much can you move?”
I tried moving a bit and found I'd lost some mobility but not much. Everything was still pretty fluid though I couldn't fully bend my arms or legs anymore. It was just like she said, there was some elasticity, some stretch to this material; but when you hit that wall where it was done stretching, that was it. You weren't going to force it to give you any more leeway. In that way it was a lot like being wrapped in three or four layers of pallet wrap, but without the squeeze. It was restrictive, it tugged on every inch of my skin when I moved, but when I was still it was like it was hardly there. It wasn't latex, or spandex, or pallet wrap, or tightly laced leather. It was different, and utterly fantastic on my skin in its own way. “Other than extraordinarily aroused? I'm good, I think. It's tight, but in a different way from latex. It doesn't squeeze but it doesn't really want to let you move. You know how much I love being coated or encased in something. This stuff is amazing. I'm mostly mobile, still.”
“How much is mostly?”
“Eighty five percent maybe? I'm sure I could still tie my own shoes and dress myself and that sort of thing with a bit of effort. But I'm not doing any Rockettes kicks or touching my toes without bending at the knees.”
“Thicker third coat it is!”
And after the third coat I was significantly restricted in how I could move. I could no longer reach the top of my own back and it was fairly difficult to touch the top of the back of my head. Bending my legs more than sixty degrees took effort. My wife was very pleased by this.
“Can I open my eyes now?”
“Not yet. There's finishing touches. Then I'll walk you in front of the big mirror and you can see. It's already amazing.” Then her voice was at my ear, quiet, smokey, and almost dangerous. “Right now, I want to fuck you until you cry.”
I sputtered. This was getting… well, maybe not extreme, but close. I was used to dirty talk. I was used to her being possessive and calling me Slut and Whore with capital letters as proper nouns. But fuck me until I cry? That was new and intense. Not unwelcome. But a little concerning. On the one hand I was utterly flattered and flabbergasted that I could make her feel so strongly. On the other, damn, on the other I didn't really care right now.
I felt her put a wig on my head. Then something with q-tips in my ears. A thorough scrub of my eyebrows and eyelids. The feeling of eye makeup being applied was familiar, so I knew that's what she was doing when it happened. I was pretty sure some sort of makeup thing happened to my eyebrows as well. At the last she told me to open my eyes but to only look at the tip of her nose. It was the only way she could apply the mascara. Eyes closed again.
“Alright. This is truly the final final touch. After this, we'll get you in front of a mirror. Frankenstein arms.”
I held my arms out in front of me in the classic impression of the movie monster. I heard the rustle of plastic and just barely felt her slide something up and over my arms.
“Arms down.”
Arms down. I heard and felt her make some adjustments at my neck and heard her pull a zipper up my back. So I must be wearing something now, something made of plastic, brand new PVC by the smell of it. More rustling, some snaps, and I felt something hanging from my waist. The new PVC smell was strong. I inhaled deeply. It was a scent I thoroughly enjoyed, and which for many reasons was thoroughly arousing. We managed to get shoes on my feet.
“Follow me.”
Then she guided me to the big mirror on the wall of the play room.
“Open your eyes.”
I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me. At first I didn't believe I was in front of the mirror and looking at myself. At first I thought I was standing in front of some sort of mannequin she'd stood up when I wasn't looking. I moved to look behind it, and it moved too. I held a hand up towards it, and its hand moved towards mine.
The vision was unreal. It couldn't possible be me in the mirror.
What I saw was a statue; an onyx or obsidian statue with features that resembled mine, but which couldn't possibly be mine. Everything was a deep shiny glossy black, like the sides of a grand piano. Not onyx or obsidian; it was shiny plastic top to bottom. The feet wore chunky black patent mary janes. The legs were strong and toned. They disappeared under a skirt and apron that came to mid thigh. The skirt was split up both sides to the waist so it would fall around, instead of over, handles that stuck out from the thing's hips. They were large handles, like you'd see on a pool toy or for handicap assistance. They were something you could wrap a hand or two around and get a really good grip on.
I looked down to the thing's hips. To my hips. I grabbed at one of the handles with my hand and tugged, then pulled until I grunted with the effort and found that it was very very firmly attached. It was like trying to pull my own leg off. It wasn't going anywhere any time soon.
Above the skirt was a blouse. It had short puffed sleeves and a low cut neckline. Ruffles trimmed the edge of the apron, the neckline of the blouse, and the cuffs of the sleeves. Between the blouse, the skirt, and the apron I recognized a fetishized maid uniform. The hair was as shiny and artificial and plastic as the rest of the thing in the mirror; and it sat on its head in a pixie bob cut.
The only points of color on the whole thing were the eyebrows, the eye lids, and the lashes. The eyes were as black as the rest of it. The brows were a narrow line of silver. The eye lids had been decorated with a line of white winged eyeliner, and glittery silver eye shadow. The lashes were a shade of ashen grey. The combined effect of these being the only points of color was uncanny in the way it accentuated expressions.
Every time I moved, stiff and restricted by the coating, the thing in the mirror moved stiff and restricted. Light reflected off all the shiny black plastic in that artificial shallow surface way that plastic bounces light. Every curve had a tight bright line of sharp highlights. I bit my lip against a little sound of arousal brought on by the feeling of the plastic that confined every inch of my skin and both literally and figuratively separated me from the world.
Everything I did, the thing in the mirror did the same. And my brain finally accepted that I was looking at myself. I finally accepted that I was a beautiful plastic doll. And I felt myself falling away a bit, allowing myself to hide behind the barrier that stood between myself and the world in a physically literal and psychologically figurative sense. I was becoming something else, something my wife had wanted for years. She'd never been satisfied with latex or other materials when we'd done dollification play before. She felt they all still looked too organic, or possibly organic, or that they were hiding something organic. There was always some sort of flaw that hurt the illusion for her, something in the way the material was never tight enough, or didn't have the right sort of utterly inorganic and artificial look. But this coating? This shiny black plastic coating was flawless. She had turned me into the perfect beautiful doll. It must be the most intense turn on for her right now, finally seeing her fantasy come to life so well, to have turned me into her perfect fetish object. I don't think there was an iota of exaggeration when she said she wanted to fuck me until I cried. Things were going to get intense. My heart hammered in my chest. I had to play the part perfectly. I couldn't ruin this for her.
But, before we started playing, before I became her doll, before I found myself falling too far away, I had to ask, “You're taking pictures, right? You're going to take pictures and video, yeah?”. The nervousness and enthusiasm came through in my voice. But I truly and intensely desired mementos of this time. The transformation was so complete and so amazing to see, the thought of it not being captured for posterity was repugnant.
She grinned wide at my inquiry, “Dolly, the NSA isn't going to have enough storage space for it all. Now, you know the drill, don't you Dolly?”
I nodded then stood at attention, straight as a board. I let myself fall further away, into the role of the Doll. I let myself feel the separation from the world, the plastic barrier on my skin and the costume provided, both physically and psychologically.“Dolly does only what Dolly is told. After this, Dolly does not speak.”
“Very good. And there is a little addition this time. Not only does Dolly not speak, Dolly does not make a sound; not a sigh, a whimper, or a moan. The only thing I want to hear from Dolly is the crinkling swish of its uniform. Does my Dolly understand?”
I nodded once, slowly, in my best impression of a mechanical movement.
“Good, get to the kitchen. You have chores to do.”
I was disappointed when I found out she was serious about having her Dolly do chores. Though as chores progressed, it became obvious there were ulterior motives beyond free house work. She made her Doll bend and stretch into compromising positions, exposing itself in ways that would be embarrassing for a person. She took pictures of these situations the Doll found itself in. She made her Doll adjust pictures on the wall many times, perhaps to test the Doll's patience. But the Doll was a Doll and was happy to simply do as it was told because its owner was happy to see those things done.
Dolly was doing the dishes when its owner slid up behind, kissed its neck, nibbled on an earlobe. I wanted to moan like a whore, express the delicious pleasure she was forcing into my skin through the coating. But Dolly is quiet, Dolly doesn't make a sound. The tension of suppressing the desire to vocalize showed in the lines of my body. Muscles tightened in my shoulders and my legs, my breathing hitched just a bit. She noticed, and gave me praise.“Good Dolly. My Dolly doesn't make a sound, it just does as it's told. And Dolly is going to keep doing the dishes while I fuck it.” I almost dropped the dish I was holding at those last words.
She rolled up the maid skirts in front, secured them in place with some buttons built into the design just for that purpose. This revealed my raging hard on, standing in all its erect and glossy glory between my legs. Then she rolled up the skirts in the back, securing them as well. I don't have much of an ass, but she delighted in taking a handful of it to squeeze, the soft but firm and pliable flesh gave way under the glossy black of Dolly's exterior coating. Divots bent the light back in surreal reflections as she drug her fingers across my posterior. I managed to maintain my composure even as she lubed my sphincter, but the pressure of her strap at my ass was my undoing. I had to grab the counter to control myself. She giggled and I felt her lay herself into my back, the warmth of her body seeping into my skin through the marvelous material that had so completely transformed my appearance. I felt her grab my hip handles. I heard her voice at my ear, commanding “Dolly is quiet.”
Then her weight and warmth left my back, and her cock entered my ass. She penetrated me slowly at first, gently, being sure I wasn't in any discomfort, that the lube was doing its job. Satisfied all was well she pulled back, then thrust back into me with authority, yanking our bodies together with her purchase on my handles. We made a slapping sound coming together. I had to grit my teeth and my hand shot up to cover my mouth to suppress what suddenly felt like a deep genetic need to be vocal.
“Dolly is quiet.” She said it as an amused statement of fact this time. Being quiet was a torture for me, and she knew it. But she was evidently enjoying it, and not just a little bit. Normally she encouraged my moans and every other sound I made when she treated me as her personal toy because she loved to hear them. Now, she was keeping me quiet. Not with a gag, only by the force of her command and my desire to please. It was a power trip for her, and she was getting off on wielding that power over me.
She pulled back, and thrust in again. Over and over. She started slowly, built a rhythm. The sound of slapping bodies echoed in the space of the kitchen. My prostate was suffering and I knew pre cum must be coating the underside of my shaft, though I couldn't feel it. For a moment, I lost myself and pushed back into her as she thrust into me. In that instant she stopped. Her angry voice hissed in my ear. “Dolly doesn't push back. Dolly does what it is told, and Dolly was told to do the dishes. Now.”
My hands found a plate and the sponge and I managed to put the two together in some semblance of doing the chore I had been commanded to.
“Good Dolly.”
And the fucking resumed.
She plowed me like a farmer behind on his fields and all I could do was hold on, both figuratively and literally. I felt the crest of orgasm approaching as she mercilessly punched my prostate with her tool, and my legs tensed up and I had no choice but to drop the dish and the sponge in the water and hold the counter just to stay upright. She noticed and she knew what was coming.
“Oh. Is Dolly gonna cum? Is Dolly gonna cum from being fucked like a whore?”
I don't know how, but I stayed quiet and managed to answer her with a nearly violent nodding of my head.
“Then come! Come for me right fucking now!”
And I did. I orgasmed. It was harder and longer than any I'd ever experienced before. Glossy black flesh quivered and shook with the release. Sticky white cum landed on the counter, the floor, and myself; marring Dolly's perfectly black exterior with its telltale pale trail of explosive pleasure. My legs gave out under me and my handles slipped from her grasp as I slid off her cock and ended up on the floor in a heap, on my hands and knees. And somehow, I stayed quiet; if you didn't count the heavy gasping for air into hard worked lungs.
Through her own hard breaths she asked, “Oh. Is Dolly okay? I didn't break my Dolly did I?”
I answered with an 'okay' sign from one hand while I heaped air into my lungs to recover from the most powerful orgasm that ever shook me. It was going to take a few minutes at least. But of course Dolly was quiet.
She knelt down next to me, breathing less hard now, brought my head up with her hand under my chin, and kissed me on my shiny black lips. It was a quick kiss, but still full of affection. “Quiet Dolly. Good Dolly. Now clean up that mess you just made all over everything.”
My breathing was only beginning to recover, but I moved to obey because I had been given orders. I got my feet under myself again, without even wobbling. But when I reached towards the paper towels I heard her make a chiding sound at me.
“Uh uh. Lick it up.”
This was humiliating. And degrading. And demeaning. And I didn't want to do it. But I was going to do it anyway. I knew I would. She knew I would. Because the fact she enjoyed watching me debase myself like this purely for her pleasure far outweighed my personal discomfort and disgust at the act. And when it was all said and done, pleasing her? Pleased me. So I started with the counter. My tongue, the only part of me that didn't look like black plastic, ran over the cold stone, mopping up my cum. The flavor wasn't bad, but the texture was repulsive to me. I went over every spot twice. I knew there could be punishment if I missed something, neglected the task, or was unenthusiastic about completing it. I looked at myself, and on my fingers I collected every drop of sticky white fluid that was marring Dolly's otherwise perfect surface, and brought them to my mouth to lick them clean. My fingers were bizarre and alien to me with their shiny slick coating. There were mine, and at the same time not.
The sink cabinet doors had been hit, and so I went back to hands and knees and I collected that mess with my tongue as well. I had to wonder if I came more than once and didn't realize it given the sheer quantity of ejaculate that had gotten everywhere. Finally I cleaned my mess from the floor. I made a show of it, pretending to be a kitten lapping at a bowl of cream. I was both disgusted by what I was doing, and proud to have done it for her pleasure despite my own reluctance.
As I was finishing I heard her moan. “Gods you are fucking amazing. My Dolly is the very best little Slut I could ever hope for.” I looked up to see one of her hands in her crotch, the other holding the strap she had removed while I licked up my cum. The hand in her crotch came out, her fingers covered in her fluids. She put them in front of my mouth.
“Clean them.”
And that, I did with enthusiasm. Like a child with a lollipop or some sticky treat I suckled on each of her fingers in turn. My tongue ran up and down each side, twisting over the top and bottoms of them. I was smugly proud of the series of little moans my ministrations brought from her mouth. When she was satisfied she pulled her fingers away, her breathing a little quick, a little pop sound happening when she broke the suction.
She dropped the strap next to me on the counter “Clean this too Dolly. You can use the soapy water.”
I stood at the sink for a long few moments, both gathering myself and watching her very fine posterior gently shimmy side to side as she walked away. I went back to washing the dishes. But it wasn't long before I was distracted again.
She sashayed back towards the kitchen, still wearing that fabulous latex that did such a wonderful job of accenting her by what it did not cover. A tablet was in one hand and her cordless magic wand was in the other. Her breasts bobbed and her hips swayed with every exaggerated step. She sat down in the dining area, directly in front of the sink, where Dolly would have to be blind not to see her and what she was doing. Dolly kept doing the dishes. Even as she placed the tablet where Dolly could see it, even as she pulled up the house's security footage showing in 4K detail what just went on in the kitchen; Dolly kept doing the dishes.
She made a show of herself in front of Dolly. She touched herself while she watched the scene she and Dolly had just acted out in the kitchen. Her hands went to her breasts, massaging them, gently at first. She pinched her nipples and moaned when she saw herself penetrate her Doll. Her nipples swelled with arousal. As the scene unfolded her ministrations on herself became more intense. One hand abandoned her breasts and dove between her legs. Fingers split her labia open and dove inside her hole. She thrust into herself slowly to start. Her motions gained speed and intensity, becoming nearly frantic as Dolly's orgasm approached on the screen in front of her. But this wasn't what pushed her over her own orgasmic edge. Her other hand abandoned her breasts and applied the magic wand to her puss. It was that, and watching Dolly lick its mess off the floor that drove her wildly over the edge. The experience left her panting and a little twitchy in her chair.
And even as she made a show of bringing herself to orgasm with her magic wand in front of Dolly while watching the scene she had made with Dolly just minutes ago; Dolly did the dishes. Dolly wanted to moan and touch itself, to relieve the now painful erection that had grown between its legs because of the show put on in front of it. But Dolly did no such thing. Dolly finished the dishes and cleaned the strap. When Dolly was done, it brought the strap back to its owner, who regarded it with a heavy smirk and took the strap from its hands. She was quite obviously very satisfied with the effect her show had on her Doll.
“You know, that looks like it's going to be awfully painful if something doesn't get done about it.” Her gaze clearly indicated my already painful erection as the object of “it”. She went back to the beginning of the footage of the scene in the kitchen, letting it start playing on the tablet again. “Watch. Don't move. Don't make a sound.” Then she knelt down in front of me and took my cock into her mouth. Her warmth seeped into my member as the mirror black shaft disappeared past her glossy blue lips. She left a blue ring at the base of my shaft, swallowing me whole. The sensation was blunted by the coating of plastic that made Dolly what it was. But that didn't stop it from feeling amazing. She was still for a long moment, just like that, with my prick buried to the hilt in her mouth, penetrating the back of her throat.
Then she did that thing where she grips me with her throat. She wasn't gagging on it. It was like she was trying to suck it straight off my body and swallow. She tightened around it in pulses, around the end of the shaft and running over the head. I was almost undone when she came up for air. She stroked me in deliberately slow motions; enough to keep me where I was without going any further while she caught her breath. Her hand was tight as it worked from bottom to top. Every other stroke she'd run her thumb over my frenulum. I should have lasted longer. I had just orgasmed enormously a short while ago. And yet, the entire erotic weight of the situation was just too much too quickly to be able to hold out for long.
Or it should have been. She went down on me again, swallowed me to the hilt. This time she bobbed over the length of my cock, running her tongue around and over it. She played over the head bringing me closer before swallowing my entire length again but now without touch besides her lips. It was just the heat of her enveloping flesh seeping past Dolly's exterior into my very sensitive organ. Her pace was designed as erotic torture, ever so slowly bringing me closer to orgasm.
Watching myself, as Dolly, do things Dolly did while the woman I loved took me inside her mouth was more than I could continue to endure for more than a handful of minutes; even though my wife was doing her best to force the length of the experience. It was a gentle grazing of her teeth over the head of my cock that was the push that sent me over the edge. And this time I could not hold back. Dolly wasn't quiet. The plastic statue that was Dolly groaned like some wild animal as it came, its hands gripped the table in a desperate bid to keep itself upright. Somehow its quaking legs didn't give out.
And suddenly I couldn't help but feel like I'd failed and disappointed her. I looked down at her, my shaft finally relieved and going limp; and her expression was one of pure self satisfaction as she swallowed. She'd finally managed to get me to break. And that made her happy. She smirked, “I'll let that one slide.” Relief flooded me and I'm sure she saw it in my face as she stood up to kiss me, this time with an intense ardor that was spoken with an intruding tongue and grasping hands. That kiss lasted for some long moments. When it was done, she undid the little snaps holding the uniform skirts up; giving Dolly back some measure of privacy for its parts.
“Make us something to drink then come up to bed. I want to cuddle my Doll and watch movies.”