© Copyright 2015 - Ban Gozawa - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-F; latex; catsuit; hood; rubberdoll; encase; tease; dream; lube; messy; insert; mast; climax; cons; X
I’ve always found dreams to be an interesting thing. They creep up on you when you least expect them, whether it be in the dead of night or the clear of day. You never know what they’ll be about, who they’ll be about, or even if they’ll involve you at all. To me, the most interesting thing about dreams is the ambiguity; the blur between fantasy and real life. Some dreams can be so detached from reality it’s obvious at first glance, but it feels so real, you start to believe that it is until you wake up and realize things are the same as they’ve always been. The rare cases where the ambiguity seeps over into those waking moments, making you wonder if your dream was real all along, even if you don’t care if it was… Those are my favorite kinds of ambiguous dreams. I should know. I’ve experienced one of those very dreams myself. In fact, that dream was, to this day, the best dream I’ve ever had.
To understand this dream, though, you have to understand me. To be more specific, me and my fetish for latex.
I don’t know when I first discovered the joys of latex, but I’ve been in love with that shiny material for a long time. For the first several years, though, all I did in relation to it was look at pictures of all kinds of beautiful and stunning women wearing full latex catsuits, watch videos of them masturbating in the material or having sex with people who also wore it, and read stories, both fiction and non-fiction, about how various men and women discovered latex, wore latex, and/or became latex. It’s weird, I know, but it’s what got me off then, and it’s what’s still getting me off now.
Despite having a love of latex, I didn’t act on it right away. It wasn’t even until I moved into an apartment and got an internship that I began using what fractions of money I had saved on latex goods. It was never much, usually hoods, which were my favorite pieces of latex apparel.When I wasn’t sleeping, eating, or working, I spent practically all of my free time locked in my room, breathing out of, around, and inside my various hoods as I masturbated furiously to my fantasies, licking up my juices (if I could) when I was done, and spending my recovery time thinking up new fantasies, which never failed to fling me back into a shlicking frenzy that echoed throughout my entire flat.
In time, with each paycheck I got from my well-paying internship, I added a few new pieces of latex apparel to my wardrobe. I ventured outside of hoods and bought catsuits, gloves, stockings, undergarments, and much more. By the time I got my bachelor’s degree and got myself an actual job, the vast majority of my clothes were latex and/or rubber. It started out simple, wearing standard clothes to work and my fetish apparel at home, but as time passed, I started wearing latex under my work clothes. It was exhilarating, but I knew to control myself. To this day, I haven’t let my urges get the better of me in work situations.
At home, though… I let my urges get the best of me all the time. Off went my business casual, on went an extra layer of latex, and before I knew it, I was lying on my rubberized upholstery, inhaling the rubbery stench of my new bedspread as I writhed around on my squeaky mattress, orgasming numerous times behind the condom-like tube of one of my favorite catsuits, and finally gasping for breath as I stewed in my naughty juices, feeling as if I could melt into the latex I was wearing… It was the best feeling in the world.
Recently, my work – which was still at its best, surprisingly – earned me a vacation, and I decided to spend it wearing latex for the full nine days I was off. The moment I came home from work, I immediately stripped out of my blouse and work skirt, my nylon stockings and high heels, the bra and panties I somehow made the decision to keep, and unveiled to myself my vacation ensemble. It was just two pieces of latex, though. But one of them was very special to me on a pervertedly spiritual level.
The not-so-special part was a latex catsuit that, like most of the catsuits I pleasured myself to in the past, covered everything below my neck, and had pouches that would fit inside my pussy and ass deeply and snugly. After lubing myself up, I picked up the black mess of latex and pulled it unto myself, taking my time as I fit myself inside. I didn’t want it to crease as I put it on; it’s the last thing a borderline hardcore fetishist like myself would want. Anyways, once the suit was zipped up in back and its pouches tucked inside my cunny and ass, I picked up the other piece. The special piece.
Said special piece was a mannequin hood I bought from Libidex two months ago. While latex was my primary fetish, I also had a dollification kink. The better half of my masturbatory latex fantasies revolved around me being transformed into a rubberdoll through latex clothing, whether it be by man or machine or another rubberdoll or two. I had dreams about rubber dollification more often than not, and whether those dreams were on purpose or by happenstance, they always brought me to orgasm much faster than any other dream of mine.
Once I took to a full rubber lifestyle around the house, I bought a couple hoods. While some matched the rubberdoll appearance to a tee with their black color and their nondescript appearance, save for either a red condom pouch for the mouth or a built-in removable gag, the mannequin hood was my favorite. Why? Because even if it was just the head, it gave me the appearance of a rubberized human; a rubber being that was clearly once human, but no longer is. The same appearance applied to the more glamorous and borderline transsexual female masks that most rubberdollers I read about on the Internet wore to convey their own desires. But I preferred hoods like the mannequin hood more. Again, latex was my primary fetish, so it, without a doubt, had something to do with it.
I had worn the mannequin hood a few times before, each consecutive period longer than the last. The last time I wore the special mask before the start of my vacation was the weekend before, and I wore it for a full 24 hours. The small holes in the eyes made it a little difficult to see, the small hole for my mouth even moreso to eat (all I had that period was water), but whenever I took a breath through the nostril holes, I felt as if I was in heaven. Having my face constricted by the mask was odd, but comfortable, and the idea that this mask made me less than human made me really wet. That idea only made me wetter with each period I put it on. So of course, when I pulled the bald, fleshtone hood on over my brown-haired self, the moment that thought came to mind, my catsuit was soaking. I was wallowing in my own juices before I could even zip it up in back! And much like every experience I had with my fetish before, I found nothing wrong with that.
Once I finally zipped up the hood, I got to work. The curtains were closed, the doors were locked, the lights were dimmed, and my condom pouches were all lubed up. From there, I laid on my bed, spread-eagle, and thrust two fingers inside my sheathed pussy. I usually started with one, but my lust was at its maximum this Friday, so my index joined my middle immediately as opposed to the routine two minutes in. That extra finger proved quite the difference, as I moaned at the top of my lungs. If I screamed any louder, the walls would have shaken and nearby animals would have barked. Luckily, the tenants in my complex didn’t have pets and most of them put up with my moaning before, so there was no problem there.
I thrust and I thrust, speeding up with each second, each minute of pumping my latex hand inside my equally latex pussy. For the next two hours, I persisted in these perverted actions. No normal human could keep it up for that long, so it was a good thing my endurance was high whenever I was aroused. Within those two hours, I came ten times. The efforts to get to the last three were much more tiring than the first seven, but the effort just made it all the more arousing when I did come and let my juices flow free inside my catsuit. Most of the juices from previous orgasms spread down my legs and mixed with the sweat inside, the hotness and wetness turning me on further.
But what turned me on the most was whenever I opened my eyes. To make masturbation more exciting for me, I set up a mirror above my bed so whenever I looked up at the ceiling, I saw myself, fingering myself to my perverted fantasies. With the mannequin hood, things were quite different from the norm. To a normal person, someone with an unmoving face making noises without even moving their mouth can freak people out, to the point of causing nightmares. Not me. A stationary face, combined with moans from someone with a non-stationary face… That’s the stuff. My thrusting increased whenever I fluttered my eyes open to see my hooded, dollified self in the mirror above through the tiny holes. My moans increased, too. My dollification kink was so great, the sight of me moaning from behind a hood whose lips never moved made me hotter and more bothered than I made myself minutes prior. Oh, the pleasures associated with becoming a doll… Of course, something that like wouldn’t happen overnight, let alone in reality.
In the world of dreams, though? You’d be surprised by the difference.
As with all people, two hours of straight fingering can tire someone out. I drank from the water bottle I had on me for this session, the thin straw I supplied not getting much liquid through but fitting nicely through my mouth hole. Next, I took my catsuit off and showered myself clean of all the girlcum and sweat I accumulated within my catsuit. I kept the hood on, though. There was something about it that made me never wanna take it off… Anyways, once I dried myself, I prepped my catsuit to dry, and then took out another one, lubing myself up and slipping into it. I added some gloves and toesocks to my evening getup, to hide the exposed hands and feet. Couldn’t have a rubber weekend without any visible skin, after all! Once I was all settled in, I went to sleep, my red latex blanket hugging close to me as I rested my head against the rubber pillow. Within a half hour, I was out cold.
And that was when the best dream of my life began.
Though at first, it didn’t feel that way. Not to say I thought I was having a nightmare, but the transfer from reality to fantasy was so smooth, I didn’t know which side I was on. Mere minutes after my consciousness slipped, I began to thrash. They were sudden thrashes, quick jerks of the body and head. The kind of thrashes one has when they’re struggling against kidnapping, or in the case of the asleep, trying to escape a nightmare. But it was no physical force or bad dream that caused my thrashing. It had to have been something else. Something arousing, maybe. I really didn’t care, as the twitches were mostly involuntary. They only stopped as soon as I began to dream.
It all started with me waking up. I was no longer in my bed, or even my apartment. Instead, I was in a small, square room with black latex sheets covering all the walls. They decorated the room from top to bottom, leaving no sign of an exit. But an exit was the least of my worries. What made me really concerned was how I knew all this. Naturally, since it was a dream, I just knew, but on the off chance that it was reality, how did I know about the room I was in if I couldn’t see anything?
Indeed, I was blind, but I only figured that out whenever the perspective flickered from my own to eyes to an invisible pair before me. As I moved, the figure before me moved. It didn’t take long for me to figure out I was looking at myself. I looked just the same as I did when I fell asleep. But something seemed… different.
First, I noticed that the glimpses of my eyes and lips through the holes in my mask were gone. Pitch blackness remained in their place. It was definitely disconcerting, but instead of freaking out about it, I raised my hand and felt over the holes. Over my eyes, which were unobscured as I “watched” myself, and over my mouth, I couldn’t feel any contact. It was like there was a layer of latex over my face behind the hood. And it was a sticky layer at that…
That was the other thing I noticed. I was sticky. Not below the neck, mind you; that part of my body was surprisingly free of anything of the sort. My hooded, mannequinesque face, on the other hand… There were bits and pieces of a sticky red substance across the mask. I saw it, I felt it, and it freaked me out. Not just because I thought my mask was soiled, but because something was clearly up. Since I thought the dream was real life at first, adding to the ambiguity, I thought something happened to me while I was asleep. I was curious as to what, so I did something I was hoping I wouldn’t do for the first few days of this weekend: take off the hood.
I spent a whole minute feeling around for the back zipper, but I eventually got a hold of it. I moved it up slowly, partly to avoid damaging the latex, and partly because that was the fastest I could unzip it. It was a curious observation, but it didn’t hold a candle to what happened when I tried to pull the hood off. I felt a resistance; a resistance that kept the mannequin hood glued to my face. Was it the sticky substance I took notice of? Was it an extended metaphor for my insistence on keeping the hood on me for as long as I could stand? Whatever it was, it didn’t take long for it to peel off. Some low, slimy noises came as I pulled the hood off slowly, stretching the strands of red substance that kept it glued on. After seconds of pulling, I lowered the mask and looked at myself through the invisible eyes before me.
As I had surmised, there was a layer of latex over my face. A solid black layer without holes. My face and head were now featureless, the most dehumanizing transformation there was. And yet, without any way to take in air, I could still breathe. What kind of hood was I wearing? I decided to investigate and started by feeling the top of my head. All I could feel as my palms pressed against the sticky latex was the solid exterior of a human head, and no hair to buffer it. My thoughts then drifted to the possibility that I was shaved bald before the hood was put on. But when I moved my hands down to my neck, I felt nothing of note. No zipper, no seam, just latex and the red substance that coated my head.
It was at that point my uncertain mind felt that things were starting to get too surreal. The hood that somehow appeared on me had no seams. It was like it was built into the catsuit, as the transition from head-covering latex to body-covering latex was a great deal smoother than I ever would have anticipated. My hands traveled down and I felt things grow more surreal. The zipper on my catsuit was gone. The edges of my gloves and socks were gone as well. I was now at the point of panicking. Whether it was some special time of outfit someone slipped onto me, some supernatural force that turned all my latex garments (minus the hood) into one, or some other unexplained phenomena, one thing was for certain: I was stuck. Stuck in an inescapable latex catsuit, a solid piece of latex that fit all of my curves near-perfectly, and on top of that breathable in spite of lacking airholes.Having fantasies about becoming a latex doll, any type of latex doll, was invigorating and arousing to a woman as much into latex as I was, but having it really happen out of the blue, even in a dream world, was quite the shock.
But soon, my panic began to lessen. That, I can thank the sticky red substance for. For the past minutes, in my attempt to look for any possible exit out of the suit for when the time came, I spread the substance all across my body. My chest, my back, my arms, my legs, my buttocks, my crotch… Nearly everywhere. And the more I frisked myself with my sticky latex fingers, the better I started to feel. Not just about my sudden change, but something else. Something… pleasurable.
Every time the substance made contact on a dry part of the latex, it stuck. There was a stringy, lingering quality to it as well whenever I removed my hand from that newly-applied point of stickiness, but whenever I touched that spot again, that quality was all that remained. The strands of substance connecting my hand to my body, opaque layers of thin red goo stretching between the strands, were there as they have been before, but when I made contact, my hand didn’t stick. And when I moved my hand around that area, it made the substance spread around. The feel was as smooth and as slick as when you lube something up. By that logic, the substance was a special type of lube. Whatever it was, as soon as I figured out how the substance acted, I started rubbing myself more often, the layers of sticky red growing thinner and thinner the more it spread out over my rubberized body. Indentations of my nipples formed as I glided my hands over my A-cup breasts, stretching some of the latex enough for me to rub lube onto the small dry spots. It did the job, which I took care to confirm over and over again as I pinched and squeezed them in arousal.
Eventually, my worries about my new form disappeared as my whole body was now sticky with the mysterious red lube. Standing up and walking around was a strange thing, as the lubed bottoms of my feet stuck to the floors of the room whenever I took a step. The time between each step was longer than normal, so it took some time to adjust. Eventually, I adjusted and treated this new, slower form of blind walking as well as normal walking. Save for me running into the walls with my sticky body a few times, but that’s beside the point.
I loved the feel of the lube over my body, but the thin layer wasn’t enough. Though latex was my main fetish, I was also sort of a fan of the wet and messy. But not in regards to food. Rather, large quantities of lube. Water-based, silicon-based, J-lube, fake cum. Stuff I could slather all over my body and bathe in for hours on end. I didn’t want to get my apartment messy or ruin my outfits, so I never pursued that fetish in real life. But the mystery lube that appeared under my mask and spread to the rest of my body thanks to my own volition seemed to have no effect on my new body. It was natural for me to seek out more of the lube. I wanted to put more of it on me, see how it felt when it wasn’t just the one thin layer…
The first chance I got to kneel down in the small black room, I started searching around for a possible source of stickiness. I felt around the floor in my occasional blindness, glancing at the ground whenever my vision shifted to the invisible eyes. I couldn’t see or feel anything at first. Several minutes later, and I was about to resign to the fate that there was nothing that could sate my desire for a continuous, sticky lubing. But then I found it.
As if it came out of nowhere, my right hand landed and stuck to a small container. I held it up, trying to figure out what it was. By touch, it felt like some kind of cylindrical object, but my third-party sight confirmed that it was in fact a container. A cylindrical vial with a button on top that I assumed would squeeze out something. It looked like it’d spray out a liquid or mist, as opposed to anything remotely solid. I had a feeling, though. A feeling that it would dispense more of that deliciously sticky lube I so craved. All it took was one push of the button on top to confirm my hopes.
I held out my left palm as I pointed the dispenser part of the container right at it, my index lightly pressing on the button. Seconds of anticipation and purposeful suspense later, a red substance oozed out. Slowly it emerged from the tiny circular dispenser, pooling in my latex palm. I set the container down once I had a decent handful of the stuff and dipped my index finger in it. I swirled it around and then pressed my finger against my wrist, letting go after a minute. Thin strings with opaque sheets in-between emerged as I pulled my finger back, as red as it was when I spread the sticky substance on my hood throughout my entire body. Yeah, this was the stuff.
Without giving it a second thought, I brought my left hand right to my chest and slapped the pool of lube on there. I didn’t bother removing my hand to see the strands of lube that characterized its properties. I just started rubbing. My right hand joined in the rubbing as well, coating my front torso with another layer of lube. For a minute, it turned into passionate groping, my rubber hands sliding over my breasts and my digits dancing across my erect nipples. I moaned from behind the hood, if it was even that anymore, as I kept lubing up in my own special perverted way. Once my breasts and belly were nice and sticky with my special lube, I moved my hands in differing directions. One went up my neck and onto my face, giving it another coat which made me moan mouthlessly again. The other moved down to my crotch sheath, as if it was preparing to lube my insides just as it did my outsides. Naturally, it was.
I kept on moaning as the lubrication intensified. One hand moving across my smooth and shiny face, the other digging deep into the equally smooth sheath that was once my vagina and spreading what lube remained on it around the inner walls. As my left hand effortlessly slid out of my rubber pussy and into my anal sheath, I brought my right to where my nose would have been. Much like my eyes and mouth, there were no holes for my nostrils – not that I needed any, as a rubber creature and all – but even so, I desperately wanted inhale this lube. So I pressed my thumb and index finger, which had the most lube out of any of my digits, against my nonexistent nostrils and inhaled deeply.
The smell was incredible. It was strong. It was deep. It was potent enough to almost knock me out on the first whiff alone. It smelt just like the latex I wore in the past and present, with hints of the lube I used to slip in. The combined smell of latex and silicone in the real world was enough to send me into an aroused frenzy. Likewise in the dream world, if not even moreso. A shudder moved throughout my body as I arched by back and moaned, stretching my jaw as much as it could. And from there, I kept inhaling. I grew higher and higher on the stench of this special lube, not even noticing that my entire hand had slipped into my latex ass, resulting in me fisting myself. My high was so great, that I felt detached from even this universe that only existed in my dreams! This was definitely a deep one, alright, deeper than the wet dreams I normally had.
Eventually, when all the lube was spread, I moved my hands back, doing the latex creature’s equivalent to sighing. Once my “breath” was caught, I grabbed the container and held it to my face. More lube oozed out of the small hole as I poured it onto my face, moving the container a few times before I let up on my grip. The container dropped to the ground, making no noise as it made contact with the floor. From there, I continued to lube. My hands spread the thick layer of lube all across my face, occasionally moving back only to slap against my featureless visage. I did this numerous times, inhaling all the while. The lube was addictive, both in application and in smell. It was a wondrous substance. I didn’t know, nor did I care about its origin or what made it up or exactly how it was different from regular lube. The point was that it felt great. I rubbed it in, and once that dollop ran out, I slathered some more on, rubbing and inhaling, from my head to my toes, on and on…
Until eventually, the container ran dry. I had been lubing myself in the sticky red substance, each layer messier than the last, for the past hour or two, and was trapped in an inescapable erotic frenzy the entire time. Ragged breathing, or the equivalent, made my whole body shudder with arousal, which served as the sign that I needed more of the sticky goodness I had coated myself in for almost the entire dream. Sadly, nothing came out when I squeezed the container. It was empty. As far as I was concerned, it was like a ruined orgasm. Rather, it was exactly a ruined orgasm. Each stroke from my lubed hand against the huge erogenous zone that was my self brought me great pleasure. It was so great, that when I came, I didn’t immediately know it. That’s how powerful my orgasms were in the dream world.
With my reason for orgasming that past hour gone, I hung my head in near-defeat, squirming in agony as my mind started to clear up. It cleared just enough for me to think where I could get more lube. At first, I felt around for a second bottle. No luck. Then I started rubbing what lube was on me already all over. It didn’t have the same feeling. Finally, I was about to just give up. But then, something peculiar happened. As I stretched out my arms and let them drop to the floor, my hand landed on something. Something solid. Something… phallic. The invisible eyes alerted me to what this object I grasped was.
It was a black rubber dildo. Ten inches long, two inches thick, and connected to the floor via a tube. Much like the container of lube, it wasn’t there before. It had to have appeared out of thin air to appease my needs. So it was exactly like the container. By my sense of logic, that meant there had to be lube inside. But I wouldn’t know just by looking at it. I had to try the phallus out first. I was unable to suck it, and sticking it in either of my holes – no stranger to dildoes, mind you – wouldn’t be the best means of confirmation, so my only choice was to jack the fake dick off myself. It was going to be tough and maybe a little boring, but whatever got me more of that lube. If it was even in the dildo to begin with…
With that, I extended my rubber hand, dripping leftover lube from the last application, and wrapped it around the black shaft. After a few sighs, my breath phasing through my featureless latex visage, I slowly jerked my hand up and down, lubing the dildo with the same lube I hoped was inside. I started out with slow rubs near the middle, partly as a means of getting used to the idea of giving a sex toy a handjob, but mostly the result of the dildo becoming at first sticky. Sure enough, as time went on, my actions increased. The strokes became faster, longer, and tighter. In no time at all, my hand had a tight grip on the dildo, jacking it from head to base and back again. My strokes coated the dildo in the same sticky layer of lube, and now it was as slick as I was. But as much as I masturbated the toy, nothing happened. It remained still and unmoving, and the hole at the top wasn’t leaking anything. At this point, my efforts to get more lube slowly transformed into handjob practice. But still, I wanted the lube, I needed the lube, so in spite of the lacking change, I just kept at it.
Eventually, my actions paid off. Seven straight minutes of stroking – at least, that’s what I think it was, time’s hard to measure in the world of dreams – and the dildo finally started giving me some feedback. At first, it throbbed, some lube leaking out the top and onto my hand like precum. It throbbed some more in the next minute, with more leakage onto my hand. Yeah, now we were getting somewhere… I kept stroking, hoping that the prelube was indeed the prelude to several torrents of the wonderful red stickiness I grew to desire. And then, nine minutes after I started, the dildo finished.
It happened suddenly. A huge stream of red lube shot out of the tip and across my face, making me flinch and almost fall onto my ass. With that surprise, I knew what just happened and knew what I had to do next. I lifted the dildo, which was tethered to the ground but whose tether extended anyways, and pointed it at my body, stroking it some more as I let the lube shoot out onto my sticky self. The torrents made me flinch a split second after each impact, but as startling as they were, they felt great. In fact, maybe it was my being startled that made it feel so great. In time, the dildo slowed down its sprays and dripped what lube was left onto myself. I dropped the toy, which slinked back into place in the position I found it, and panted heavily in spite of my missing mouth, recovering my energy.
When I had enough strength, I resumed my lubing. I spread the fresh supply all over, moaning as I did. I slid my hand into both of my holes to get them re-lubed, stuffing it with enough of the substance for it to leak out of the circular holes once I moved onto my face. Of the lube that shot out onto me, my head got the thickest coat. I lubed it up as per the new usual, and after clapping my hands together and pulling them apart to produce the opaque sheets that made it special, I thrust my face into it and moaned as I lubed up again. The pattern continued and eventually, one hand was rubbing my head frantically in an attempt to get the lube everywhere, while the other thrust in and out of my latex pussy. In doing the latter, though, most of the lube spilled out. At first, I was gonna scoop it back inside, but then, I got a better idea.
As if in a trance – which I practically was – I crawled back to the dildo, sitting in place in the center of the room. I moved myself over the phallus and squatted down onto it, rubbing the shaft against my front entrance. That was enough to get a moan out of me. That moan and the ones following only got louder as I slowly slid myself down onto the toy. The remaining lube inside my cunt made the dildo’s entrance awfully easy, but even so, I groaned and spasmed in ecstasy. The idea of being filled up with the lube I loved so much was enough to turn me on in this state. Soon enough, I was eagerly bouncing up and down on the phallus inside, squeezing it with what felt like my vaginal muscles (I wasn’t entirely sure if I still had them) in an attempt for either of us to cum sooner. I was so aroused, but I hadn’t cummed yet, so my eagerness to do so was great. With every push and pull my body made, I panted, mindlessly moaning and begging for release.
That release came suddenly, as my moans stopped and my insides started to heat up. I started to spasm. First a twitch, then a series of twitches, and finally convulsions. I had no mouth, and yet I screamed, as loud as I could as my rubber orgasm coursed throughout my body. Likewise, the dildo came as well, pumping seemingly endless shots of lube into my hole. I could feel it filling me up, my insides expanding as I remained squatted, head hanging down as I recovered slowly.
Once I was strong enough to move, I slowly lifted myself off of the toy and collapsed backwards onto the ground. With a grunt, I landed on my back, rolling onto my side as the lube slowly leaked out onto the shiny floor. I tilted my head up slightly to see that the toy was still leaking lube. The sight allowed me to recover faster, and soon, I was rubbing against the dildo yet again. Only this time, I shifted position as I returned to squatting. This time, I was gonna fill up my ass with the red lube.
Much like before, when I lowered myself onto the dildo, the lube that was already inside my asshole made sliding onto it easier; and because there was more lube, it took much less effort for it to slide inside me. Just one thrust downward sent all ten inches inside my rubberized rectum, and almost immediately, I started to squeeze, moaning as I rocked back and forth, bounced up and down on the phallus. The pleasure I got from feeling the cock inside my tight ass was quite a bit dulled in comparison to when I had it in my pussy, but it still felt good. Not only that, but it took longer for me to cum from the anal stimulation.
Even so, that orgasm felt just as good as the ones before. Both my pussy and my ass convulsed as my body twitched heavily, my climax coursing throughout my rubber self. Even after I was finished, I kept thrusting down, as if I was begging for yet another orgasm. It didn’t take as long for the second to hit. And as I kept riding after that, the third came quicker. And each time I came, starting with the second, the dildo came too, filling me up with more of that addicting red lube. It was a subtle change, but my insides expanded to take in more of the viscous fluid, which was enough to make me moan and writhe uncontrollably. It was like I was losing my mind, but I didn’t give a damn.
In time, I stopped thrusting and moved off of the dildo again, the lube inside my ass shooting out onto the ground as I gasped heavily. Just as before, I reached down and scooped some up, slapping it onto my body and rubbing it all over. I moaned from the rubs and inhaled what lube moved over my face, my head twitching around as my consciousness started to fade, until all that was left was a faceless, featureless rubber creature, slathering herself in lube in the dark and shiny room of my dreams...
And then I woke up.
Just as before I dreamt, I started to twitch and thrash after my dream was done. At first, I thought I was experiencing one of the countless orgasms I had in the dream world. This time, however, it was just a sign of the smooth transition I made back to reality. Once it was complete, my eyes shot open from behind my hood and I sat up in my bed. The fact that I was seeing things from my perspective as opposed to that of someone looking at me was rather concerting. However, I couldn’t be too sure.
Seconds after I regained a sense of my surroundings, I pulled back my red latex blanket and got out of the bed, heading straight to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror above my sink, at the mannequin hood that had supposedly remained on my face all night. I could see dimly-lit eyes and the scant signs of a pair of red lips through the eye and mouth holes, so I knew no one slipped another hood on me while I was sleeping. But even then, the implications of my dream and the surprising realness of it made me uncertain that things were completely normal. I was still in my apartment, I was wearing all that I went to sleep in the previous night…
But was I trapped in this suit? A simple feel around the back of my catsuit confirmed that I wasn’t and there was indeed a zipper I could use to get out. I could also feel the thin seams between my gloves and stockings and the catsuit they clung to. I could even feel the tab on the back of my hood! With that, it was practically confirmed that I wasn’t somehow mysteriously transformed in the middle of the night. However, part of me wanted to be sure that I was still, well, me. And with that, my hands gripped the tab and pulled it up, unzipping the back of the mannequin hood. It was something my plans for this weekend couldn’t prepare for, but I had no qualms of doing after that oh so realistic dream I had. I was taking off the hood.
I slowly peeled the rubber face off of my real one, my hands drifting down towards the sink and taking the hood with it. My eyes were closed, as if in fear of seeing the image of myself that I hid when in private like this. I deeply inhaled once or twice, telling myself that there was no fear in it. And so I opened my eyes, and there she was, staring back from the other side of the mirror. Long brown hair the shade of red oak, done up in a bun. A slightly darker set of brown eyes. A face that was both pretty and nondescript, save for the beauty mark beside the right eye. It was me, the same old Abigail Moore that I saw every day in that mirror. I sighed in relief, in knowing that my dream was, indeed, a dream. And yet it felt so real, that I wondered to myself, what if everything I experienced in the past few hours – the black room, my featureless form, and the intoxicating red lubricant – actually happened?
As if fate was answering my temptations, as I prepared to put the hood back on and resume my rubber vacation, I noticed something in the mirror. The black latex gloves that covered my hands appeared to be shiner than before. I set down the hood and raised my hands to see with my own eyes. The substance on my hands wasn’t so much shiny as it was sticky. A sticky, opaque substance tinted in red, that stretched between my fingers when I spread them out, that bridged my hands whenever I pressed them together and pulled them apart, that became smooth and slippery whenever I rubbed my hands together over the same places a second or third time. I even held them up to my face and inhaled deeply. The aroma was enough to make me shudder in delight, nearly squirting around my vaginal pouch as I clenched my inner walls tight in reaction. The strength and depth also got to me, almost knocking me out. I remained conscious, but collapsed to the floor, moaning softly as I rubbed my chest and crotch with the sticky substance, whose smell continued to intoxicate me even after the first whiff.
There was no doubt about it. This substance was the mystery lube from my dreams. Where did it come from? I didn’t care. Whether I had it all along or it came from someone or something else, I remained too lost in the pleasure to give a damn. Just the way I wanted it.
Isn’t the ambiguity of dreams just so interesting?
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