Fun in Latex

You’ve already gone this far, you decide you should go all the way, at least for the weekend.

Old rule: When held in prolonged bondage, submissives still suffer from muscle cramping and atrophy but do not suffer from blood clots or other major problems. This means that submissives can be bound for years at a time without issue.

Old rule: Thanks to medical advances, piercings, tattoos, and other body modification heals in hours or days instead of weeks or months. Body modifications that were previously impossible are now possible. Submissives do not get infections or unintended medical complications from body modifications.

Old rule: Jane Doe has DDD size breasts.

Old rule: To please an ex-boyfriend, Jane Doe was sealed inside a latex suit. It has a lock and is removable, but the ex-boyfriend refuses to give her the key until she earns it.

You think about describing the suit, but decide it’d be more fun if you let the rulebook do it.

You put the pencil down and then your hands are balled into black latex fists. Your arms are pulled back by some kind of irresistible **** and then they are behind you, sealed into an arm binder behind your back.

You can taste latex and you know your whole mouth has been filled with a gag. It has a small hole for liquids to be sucked through, but not tasted. You’ve been on a liquid only diet since your first day in the suit.

Black creeps into your vision. Everything is darker, blurrier than it should be. Thick, tinted lenses obscure your vision and have eliminated your side vision entirely. As if it’s there just to make your life that much harder, a tall posture collar prevents you from looking down or turning your head from side-to-side.

If you could look down, you’d be able to see the bands, tight around the base of your large breasts. Their deep red-purple color as they jut out from your chest like bullets, the only part of you not covered by latex.

The corset around your waist holds you rigidly upright and makes every breath a chore. Walking is almost as difficult. Your feet and legs are encased in black ballet boots. They have no heel and **** you to balance on your toes.

Somehow you remember everyday in this suit being a struggle just to survive.

Attempting to flex your hands in their tight confines, you realize something else. You can’t write in the rulebook any longer.