The Basement

All Taylor wanted was to go lay down and enjoy herself. She wanted to relax, that what this whole trip was for. But she had agreed. She would pay. As long as it was reasonable. She couldn't help but feel nervous as she lined the key up with the basement door. In this heinous sex suit, there were few excuses she could make.

Down the stairs, fluorescent lights proudly lit the singular structure in the basement. A black bench with four rests for legs and arms a bit lower on each side of it, metal cuffs on each arm and leg. It was immediately clear. Lay down, and get strapped in. Immobilized for someone she didn't know. Absolutely insane.

She was curious though. Why did they think she would agree to this? She inspected the bench, laying herself face down on it. It was designed to raise her butt into the air. Her ankle pressed deep into one of the restraints, clicking a soft leather button that was inlaid to the bench. The metal clasp slowly closed itself around her ankle automatically. Taylor watched wide eyed as it clicked shut behind her. She was cuffed to the bench. Panic set in. She reached behind her and was relieved to find a button easily unclasped it.

Her heart was racing, but not out of fear. She was thrilled in the other way. Taylor sat sideways on the bench and reached down to calm herself herself, latex fingers sliding over her latex pussy. She had just been locked to a bench in a strange basement and it sent a submissive thrill through her. The fantasy was enough to get her off. But no, she would not go through with this. This was not acceptable. The game was over. Fantasies are great, as a fantasy. She headed for the stairs feeling utterly silly. But at the top of the stairs, a dark silhouette appeared.

"You will get in that." The door was slammed shut. Locked. She was trapped down here.

"Let me out you psycho!" Taylor banged the door.

"We have been watching you Taylor. It's why you were selected."

"Why I was selected!? What are you talking about!"

"You have another calling. Another life to start. One you will be better at, that will fit you."

"What? Let me out! I'll make sure you go to jail if you don't open up right now!"

"You only have one option Taylor. Strap yourself in. You have five minutes, or I will have to bring in some men to **** you into it." Taylor screamed at the door. Banged on it. She felt so perverse in this suit and wanted whoever this was to go away and never come back. But no more response came.

"One minute." A calm voice. Taylor froze. More men, seeing her like this. Grabbing her. If she had one option left, it was avoiding more exposure. She hated being touched. Taylor lay down on the bench again. The back was split obscenely wide. It only took a few seconds, and both her her ankles were cuffed. She pressed one wrist into the front cuff and it clicked firmly around her wrist. A dangerously perfect fit unfortunately. She hesitated on the last one, but there was only one way out of here. As soon as it clicked shut, she heard the door open.

From the corner of her eye, Taylor could see a small man, well dressed descending the stairs.

"Yes, this is much more befitting of you." He said while encircling her.

"What, are you going to **** me or something!? Are you trying to get yourself sent to prison? I'm Taylor fucking Swift, the amount of cops looking for you would be unending."

"I assure you, I have nothing to worry about. And no one is going to **** you, that will be impossible. This is much more of a decision, than a risk for someone like me. You see, you were indeed the popstar Taylor Swift. And I came to realize that your music was... uninspired. Catchy, for sure, but seriously lacking depth or purpose. You have been feeling this as well, yes? A lack of inspiration?"

"What? A little, what does this have to do with anything?" Taylor wondered why he used her name in a past tense. He wasn't making any sense. It was true though, Taylor had al;ways felt a bit like an imposter, the success she had still seemed so alien to her. She had never expected to get so famous, to have so much expected of her. She wanted to escape. That's why she was here, after all.

"You ended up as the wrong thing. That beautiful voice, those red lips. You will be much happier in your new career. One you can actually excel at, one that will truly fulfill you and meet your desires."

"And what career is that exactly?" Taylor spat at the man.

"Oh I thought that would be obvious. A whore. An unnamed anonymous rubber ****." Taylor took a moment to process that. The position she was in.

"WHAT!? You really are insane. Let me out of this right now!" Taylor shook in her restraints. She yelled. But the man ignored her. Somehow, he was using his cellphone and clearly texting someone. How was he getting a signal? Several minutes passed. Taylor argued with him to let her go. She had money, connections, but the man was completely uninterested.

"Ahh, quiet. Your first client is approaching right now. Turns out this sleepy town is still full of horny men." Taylor could hear the distinct sound of an engine approaching the cabin and stopping. Something welled up inside of her. It was a strange feeling. Anticipation, but she felt no fear. Maybe it was because she couldn't move. She was too calm. Too level headed. The door slammed after some footsteps.

"You can't **** me." Taylor pleaded, reality setting in.

"You wont be ****. Now, the more you talk, the more likely this man may surmise your identity." The short man warned.

A large man bumbled down the stairs, clearly drunk.

"Which way ehh where?" The man held his phone at arms lengths squinting trying to read it. He was huge, fat, drunk and dressed in flannel and jeans.

"Right this way sir. Now, as we agreed, that will be one hundred dollars to use the rubber ****."

"Waaaow. Imagine kinky shit like this in my podumpety town." The man drooled at Taylors reflective black rump. He walked up to her and grabbed her ass.

"Wow, look at this big ass!" He laughed but Taylor grimaced from the humiliating situation. Though in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but be startled by the mans appreciation. She had never heard anyone say that about her.

"Sir, one hundred dollars"

"Yah yah, one second." The man fumbled with his wallet, carefully counting each 20 dollar bill before handing it to the man.

"Thank you sir, you have her for the hour. Will you be a good rubber **** for this man?" He addressed Taylor.

"Ummm..." Was this man really asking her if it was okay? What would he do if she refused? He clearly wanted her to say yes. Taylor could feel the man fondling the pads in her but and waist, making appreciative sounds. Taylor hated this so much. She felt so weak, so helpless. Her pussy drooled in the latex. The man noticed, wiping his fingers across the black zipper, raising them up and sniffing them loudly.

"That is one horny whore woo." Taylor felt broken. Cornered. But she had to admit, she was also horny. And anonymous to this man, safe within the all encompassing latex suit. The mans hands were making her feel so slutty and appreciated. Like she was the best thing in the world, a purpose built sex object. The shorter man was asking her directly if this was ok. Taylor appreciated that she was being pressured into this. Making it seem like it wasn't a choice. She needed that, she was too uptight to ever act out a fantasy like this. Maybe she was being too trusting, but asking for her consent made her believe that this man was still just trying to help her out. She would see his game through. Was she being ****, ****, or just horny? Taylor wasn't really sure herself.

"Yes." The short man left. The man behind her... unzipped his pants. Taylor braced herself, already regretting her answer.

He dived on top of her, reaching around to grab her rubber tits. She could feel his cock pressing up against her suits zipper and she moaned. He fondled her breasts for awhile, cupping and jiggling them to his hearts content, his cock coming to rest between her latex cheeks. It felt so crazy to be this mans whore, her heart raced.

"Such nice juicy tits!" Taylor couldn't help but feel wanted as this man smothered her in his lust. He tired of dry humping and shuffled to the front of the bench, presenting her with a very hairy, fat cock.

"Let me see those pretty lips get to work." And in it went. Dirty, disgusting, raw. Taylor sucked on it anyways as he asked. He groaned in appreciation.

"Ahh that's perfect, such a good whore." He grabbed her head. She choked, she gagged, he was way too rough and getting rougher. She twisted her head away, his hard cock bounced. He was using her mouth like any other whore, she was getting no special treatment. The man walked behind her and reached for her zipper. Down it went, freeing her pussy. His hand dug into her for a moment causing her to gasp.

"Ahh nice and wet pussy." His cock caressed the entrance of her pussy briefly before he slammed it in. There was no need for foreplay with a whore. Taylor moaned immediately, enjoying every thrust. The man had no idea who she was. It was humiliating to know he had paid only a hundred dollars to use her. He thought she was a whore, he called her a whore, and she was already near to cumming like a whore.

Because right now, that was all this man wanted to use her for. And he was happy. He didn't need her to be Taylor Swift. She had escaped. The last thing she wanted to do was blurt out to this horny idiot that he was fucking TAYLOR SWIFT. She was starting to cum. As the mans cock kept slamming into her, all she could think about was how he had just called her a whore, how her tits were juicy. Taylor screamed. Long loud moans filled the basement.

"Keep moaning, you have the voice of an angel" Taylor felt a glow. The simplicity of pleasing this man. He wasn't a critic. He wasn't writing articles about her body or her singing talent. He just liked her. Wanted to have sex with her. She felt more validated, more complete, and more honest in pleasing this man than any song she had ever written. Taylor kept moaning, and kept cumming. Singing out the most beautifully whorish moans that had ever been sung. The man finished, cumming deep in her pussy. He lay on top of her, drunk and nearly asleep until his cock slipped out naturally. He grunted, zipped up, and left.

After perhaps twenty minutes or so of drooling his cum onto the bench, the short man came down.

"That was one of your best performances yet. A much better whore than a singer. At least as a cheap whore." The man began unclasping her bonds.