Archive-name: Bondage/airubb01.txt

Archive-author: Dr. Hevea

Archive-title: Adventures in Rubber -  1





 Chapter 1

 part 1 of 2



Jason was getting frustrated. The embroidered jacket was chafing, the

bar scotch he'd ordered was watery, and he was sweating in the rubber

pants. What the hell he thought, I may as well enjoy my drinking, if I

can't enjoy the bloody party. He poured his drink into an abandoned

margarita, and caught the bartender's eye. "Double shot of Macallan,

neat," he ordered. The bartender, a bored-looking gorilla in a nun's

habit, said, "Top shelf is four bucks a shot," waited for his reaction,

and when he said nothing, turned to pour.



Jason had come to the Hallowe'en party alone, as a last resort, knowing

full well he would most likely remain alone. He looked around the

party, noting the many couples that had formed since the masquerade

dance had begun. It looked like yet another lonely night out of years

of lonely nights.



Earlier, things had looked promising as several attractive women had

shown interest in his flashy costume. But right on cue, his insecurity

had caused him to stammer, to blurt meaningless and silly things, and

one by one, they had disappeared into the crowd, only to be glimpsed

later hanging on the arm of another, apparently more confident man, or

in some cases, woman.



It was hard to tell, with some of the costumes.



Shit, why couldn't I have been born gay, he thought. At least, there

seem to be a lot more men here than women with a fetishistic bent.



His hopes rose again when a young woman in an outrageous blonde wig and

1920's flapper dress walked up to him with two glasses of champaign.

She looked like a gangster's moll from a movie.



"Hoy they-uh," she said. He grinned. She even had the accent down pat.



"Hey, baby doll," he said in his best imitation of Al Capone.



She frowned slightly then brightened. "Oi loik ya cawstume, where'd ja

foind it?"



Once again, he tried to concentrate on what he would say. She was a

knockout, he just _had_ to get it right this time. For the seventeenth

time tonight, he heard a friends advice in his mind. "Just be

yourself. People can sense when you're putting on an act." He tried

to relax.



He dropped the "gangster" accent and smiled in what he hoped was a

winning manner. "Well, I rented the jacket, hat and shoes, but I

already had the rubber pants. Where did you find that outrageous wig?"



Thirty seconds later, he stood morosely wiping champaign from his

jacket, amazed to discover that not only had her accent been real, but

the wig was not a wig, and her head was as empty as her glass was now.



She was not The Woman.



'The Woman' was a sort of fantasy he'd entertained since puberty. He

sat down at the cash bar, and thought back to his high school days, to

his first and only great love.



When he was about sixteen, and noticing girls in a big way, he'd made a

pass at the sexiest red-headed girl in school, Mandy. This was a bold

step for him, since he'd always had trouble talking to girls. It was

discouraging, actually, for his swim-team body and cute looks tended to

attract quite a few potential dates and even bed-mates. The problem

was that Jason Stewart was not just a jock. He was smart, and he knew

it, and he just couldn't relate to 99% of the girls at school, despite

the urging of his percolating hormones. To be sure, there were a few

smart girls at his school, but they dressed like bag-ladies, and their

personal grooming habits would have shamed a wino. There appeared to

be no females there with good looks, good taste, and intelligence in

the entire city of St. Louis.



Moreover, his social skills seemed somehow lacking when dealing with

girls- they seemed to him almost an alien race, with quite different

needs and goals than he. Due to an early divorce, Jason had grown up

without a father, and somehow his mother had never graced him with any

dating skills.



After two years of unsuccessful attempts at conversation with

empty-headed Madonnawannabes, and a few aborted dates, he overheard a

conversation between his chemistry teacher and Mandy Rafool. She was

discussing the relationship between what she had learned in physics

class to the current discussion of valences in chemistry. He would

never have imagined! He had seen her around for quite awhile and like

every other guy in school had been fascinated with her pretty face,

tight jeans and sweaters, and astonishingly mature body.



And like every other guy in school, he had noticed that she was

conspicuously without a boyfriend. But he'd assumed from her good

looks and her retinue of bimbettes that she was yet another bimbo

herself. She was two years older than he, a senior, a cheerleader and

she seemed like a daddy's-little-girl type who never lacked for

anything, yet he had fallen hard, and he resolved to win her heart.



For the next six months he secretly bought all the magazines the girls

at school seemed to worship, and studied. In Seventeen, he learned how

a 'real cool dude' walked, talked, and dressed. In Young Model, he

read about the things every teenage girl supposedly wanted in a

boyfriend. In Cosmo, he discovered what sort of sex 'every'

sophisticated, mature woman 'wants to have'.



And, finally, after screwing his courage to the sticking point, he'd

asked her for a date.



She'd accepted! Actually, when he first spoke to her she'd laughed and

walked off with her friends, but then right after school, he had found

her sitting on the hood of his car. She told him she was sorry, that

she'd actually thought him cute when they first met, but his inept

approach had 'forced' her to rebuke him, lest her girlfriends think her

'easy'. Considering how she domineered her peer group, he thought it

more likely that she only feared a loss of control, but didn't dare

risk such a rebuke. He was in love... or lust, which was about the

same to him at that age.



"Well, aren't you going to drive me home?" she'd demanded. At last, he

had thought to himself, a girl who takes the lead. As they talked,

sitting in his car in front of her house, he discovered with delight

and a certain relief that she did have a brain after all. The vast

majority of the attractive girls, at least, seemed to believe that

brains and education were anathema to becoming a model, which every one

of them except Mandy seemed to want. She told him she was getting

straight A's except in Home-Ec, which she loathed, and that she had

already decided to become an investment broker!



He asked her why she had no boyfriends, why she had picked him. Her

reply astonished, and then warmed him. It seemed that she too, was

turned off by empty-headed football jocks suffering from what she

called testosterone poisoning. She seemed surprised and delighted that

he was on the swimming team, yet was also an intelligent student. Then

she shocked him by revealing that she had not only dated a few of those

football jocks, but had sex with several, and found them to be boring,

self-centered lovers.



At his stunned look she added, "Oh, don't look so shocked. There's

nothing wrong with having sex early, although you could never prove it

by those immature fools I run with. I'm not stupid, I use condoms, I

play it safe.



Besides, I've seen the way you look at my body, you know damn well

you'd give your left arm to get in my pants..." here she reached over

and squeezed his crotch, nearly causing a minor traffic accident,

"...and who knows, maybe you will, if you're good to me."



Jason's brain was yelling, "DANGER...DANGER, Dr. Smith! Cockteaser

ahead!" but he suppressed its voice easily and told himself she really

meant it- she was just a very bossy girl...er, woman, he corrected

himself.



She turned out to be a rather forceful lass indeed. Fortunately for

Jason's grades, she shared no classes with him, but when they passed in

the halls, she surreptitiously blew him kisses, or licked her lips

lasciviously when no-one was looking. She insisted on meeting him

after school every day, and that he drive her home. He lived for those

drives, as they talked about their passtimes and interests, the other

kids at school, and frequently about sex. She seemed quite

knowledgable on that subject, and astonished him with her frank,

technical descriptions of what seemed to him bizarre yet tantalizing

acts.



Finally, on Friday, she informed him that he would pick her up at seven

that night to go to Angelo's for dinner. Angelo's was a restaurant &

nightclub, rather pricey for kids their age, but his part time job at

Radio Shack had allowed him to save a tidy bundle. He felt a moment of

pride at being able to wine and dine the sexiest girl in school.



It was rather a relief actually, not having to worry how to persuade

her to go out with him. All she required of him was a "yes".



When he picked her up, he discovered that she challenged the

conventions of fashion as well. He got to her house early and after

waiting nervously on the porch for several minutes, he rang the bell

precisely at seven o'clock. She opened the door within seconds, and

breezed right past him toward the car. He could only stare after her

in shock. When she realized he wasn't following she turned, staring

back at him with hands on hips, looking at him silently as if to say,

'Well, aren't you coming?' He continued to stare for a moment, than

slowly walked up to her, his expression of slack-jawed astonishment

slowly turning to one of frank admiration as he boldly looked her up

and down. The temperature of the warm June night suddenly rose several

degrees.



"Buy you a drink, senor?" The voice at his shoulder snapped Jason back

to the present. A huge woman, no, a transvestite, in a tight red

flamenco dress was standing next to him.



"Umm, no thanks. I mean, no offense, but your eyes are the wrong color

for me." The flamenco dancer pouted and flounced away. Jason sipped

his scotch, closed his eyes and thought back to that first, incredible

night.



For their trip to the club, she had worn an outrageous shiny rubber

miniskirt in hot pink that fit like a second skin. If that wasn't

enough, she had topped it with a tight-fitting jacket of white patent

leather, accompanied by fishnet stockings and pink patent spike heels.

She wore no blouse under the jacket, and if she wore a bra, it must

have been quite low-cut, as her burgeoning cleavage was plainly

displayed in the neckline. His first reaction was that she looked like

one of the hookers on Main Street, or a heroine from a B-grade movie,

although unarguably sexy!



"My god Mandy," he said, "you look delectable!" She grinned a wicked

grin. "Yes, I know. I take it then that you like my tastes."



She even sounds like a b-grade movie, he thought. He convinced his

eyes to stop exploring her body, to meet her gaze. "Mandy, I LOVE the

way you look...it's just that... I guess it's a bit of a shock. At

school, you never wear anything more provocative than a tight

sweater...do you dress this way every time you go out? Don't you get a

lot of flack from your parents?" He realized he was gushing and shut

up, coloring slightly.



She smiled wryly at him and ticked off her reply on her fingers.

"First: I dress the way I dress at school in order to identify with

those little idiots who follow me around like puppy dogs. I give them

something to look up to, they give me a certain cachet of

respectability, helping me to get on the cheerleading team, the school

newspaper, the yearbook staff, student council, and so on. That stuff

looks great to college scouts, after they finish examining your test

scores, of course.



"Second: no, I don't always dress this way when I go out, only when I

want to reduce my date to a drooling blob of lust." She grinned

mischievously.



"It's working, believe me," stammered Jason,



"..third," Mandy interrupted, "no, my parents don't mind much at all..

you should see some of the things THEY wear.



"and fourth, are we going to dinner, or not?"



During dinner, while his head was reeling from her fantasticly clothed

figure, her slightly musky cologne, and two glasses of wine, she

whispered to him in no uncertain terms what she expected of him later.

Jason was in pubescent heaven. His erection had not subsided since

she'd opened the door, and she certainly wasn't helping with her

thoroughly lurid account of the things she wanted to do to him. If she

weren't so straightforward and bossy, he thought, I'd think she was the

biggest tease of all time.



By the time dessert had arrived, she had removed a shoe, and was

massaging his uncomfortable bulge with her toes, the concealing

tablecloth keeping their secret. When she put her shoe back on and

began squeezing his crotch between both heels, he thought he would

explode. He didn't want to cream in his pants, but he didn't want to

make a scene, either. The whole time, Mandy kept up a stream of

innocuous conversation that for Jason, became increasingly difficult to

follow.



When they got to the car, she leaned back against the car, inviting him

into her arms. For a few seconds, Jason hugged her gently, as if

afraid she would break. He kissed her hesitantly, just before they

both threw decorum to the wind, each grabbing the other fiercely,

smothering each other with their mouths, their toungues.



Jason squeezed her ass and pulled her tightly to him, marvelling at the

unusual feeling of the smooth, pliant latex covering her muscular

cheeks. Mandy responded by pushing her hand down his pants.



Jason felt her hand around his erect shaft, and suddenly knew that they

would not be getting home at the hour he'd promised his mother. He

drew his head back, looked her in the eyes. "I think we'd better go

somewhere."



Mandy had him drive to the outskirts of town to an abandoned farmhouse

she knew about from some previous amorous adventure. The entire way,

she was melted against him, rubbing his skin with her hands, and

distracting him from driving in general. Soon she had opened his fly,

and had scooped everything out. Jason tried to think of something to

say, but was overcome by the unique sensation of SOMEONE ELSE handling

his cock, softly squeezing his balls. He tried to concentrate on the

road, but when she pulled him into her mouth, for the second time that

week, he almost drove off the road. "Ah!

..ahhh" was all he could say.



"Relax," she said, releasing his cock for a moment, "you drive the car,

and I'll drive you." She again bent to her task. During a moment's

clear thought, he realized she was quite good at it. Every time he

felt ready to come off, she either slowed down or stopped altogether,

moving her attention and tongue to his balls, or neck, or earlobes.

Only once did she come up for air, to give directions.



When they finally arrived, Jason pulled out a large picnic blanket his

mother kept in the trunk, "for road emergencies". He'd decided that

this was a road emergency. In seconds, Mandy had him down on the

blanket on his back, her legs astride his hips, and her hands pressing

his shoulders into the soft earth. "You're a virgin, aren't you?" she

asked softly, smiling gently down at him in the pale moonlight.

Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't break her gaze. "Umm, yeah," he

answered sheepishly.



Softly, she stroked his face. "Heyy.... heyyy," she cooed, "it's

alright! Everyone's a virgin some time in their life. You just sit

back and enjoy the ride. If you feel like doing something, say so, or

just do what comes naturally. Now then..." She squirmed backwards

enough to get at his belt and stood suddenly, unceremoniously yanking

off his pants. "There! Now we're getting somewhere," she exclaimed,

grabbing at his underwear. When she had him totally nude he protested,

"Hey, wait a minute, I'm not wearing a stitch, and you're still

dressed! That's hardly fair."



Mandy stood astride his chest, looking down at him feigning a hurt

expression. "Don't you LIKE the way I'm dressed?" She ran her hands

over the thin shiny patent leather covering her breasts, turned to face

his feet, giving him an excellent view as she carressed her

latex-covered derrier. "Er, well, I didn't mean..."



"And besides," she added, bending to look at him between her knees as

she positioned herself above his head, "I'm not wearing any panties."

So saying, she knelt astride his chest, pinning his upper arms under

her shins, and squatting directly over his face.



 ( to be continued )



			 Chapter 1 part 2 of 2





Jason had actually dreaded this moment. Although a virgin, he was by

no means ignorant, and through his reading and by the coarse jokes and

bragging told in the swimming team locker room, he had surmised that

cunnilingus was a distasteful and unpleasant experience. All that

changed in the next thirty seconds. As she lowered her crotch over his

face, she began stroking his erect cock, occasionally leaning forward

to tongue and partially suck on him. He was eager to return the

favor. He sniffed cautiously. A melange of scent surprised his nose.

The smell of the latex miniskirt, now hiked up around her hips was

reminiscent more of certain pipe tobaccos than the smelly innertube

rubber he was more familiar with. This was mixed with a new smell,

musky and rich, not unpleasant, but... strange, with a hint of some

musky cologne. He suspected she had scented herself here as well.

Encouraged, he reached out with his tongue, exploring the pink flesh

hidden in the hair. She tasted much the same as she smelled- he decided

that the boys on the swim team must be crazy or liars, because he was

already beginning to like it.



As his tongue made it's first tentative entry into her hungry sex,

Mandy moaned, backed up into his mouth, and bent further to take him

completely into her mouth. Jason bucked his mouth and tongue against

her and into her, having only a fleeting instant to think- I'm doing

it! At last, I'm actually doing 69 with the best girl in school!

before the rising heat in his groin became a pulsing fire that swept

through his mind, leaving only peace and a growing love behind it.



"Hey buddy, if you're not gonna drink, how about letting someone else

use that stool, huh?" Jason awoke with a start from his reverie,

realizing his daydream had become that lucid, remembering sort of

sleep-dream. He looked up at the hard hat that had spoken, realizing

that the deep voice belonged to a huge, muscular woman dressed as a

construction worker. She had one meaty fist clamped around the wrist

of a fierce-looking smaller woman sporting a green mohawk, the other

around a huge can of Buddweizer.



Jason blinked and said, "Uh, I was just leaving." 



Sometimes, he thought heading for the other end of the bar, discretion

is the ONLY part of valor.



As the saddening memories of his lost love returned, Jason hailed the

bartender, who had been replaced by a six-foot tall pink elephant, and

ordered another shot of the Macallan. Wistfully, he thought about that

first night of blazing hot sex, of exploration and learning. He

remembered that at one point, Mandy had been lying back, knees in the

air, while Jason, his hands lifting her ass, lapped and sucked hungrily

at her pussy. Essentially they were waiting for Jason's plumbing to

recover before having at it again. Mandy had suddenly lowered her

legs, tucking her ankles into his armpits, and pulled her skirt down

around his head. When he started to back out to see what was wrong,

she urged, "No, keep going," and pulled him to her with her ankles.

Jason, his head squeezed between her muscular thighs and the tightly

stretched skirt, his nose assaulted by her strong musk and the aromatic

scent of the rubber, set to with renewed vigor, and soon found his tool

hardening again. It had been an incredible night, and he had learned a

few new skills, too.



>From that day forth, he had developed a special affinity for Mandy's

style of dress: high heels, tight fitting, yet revealing jackets and

blouses and skin tight dresses.



His lover had quite a few sexy outfits, including several made from

leather, or shiny, stretchy plastic, and a purple latex sheath dress

that looked as if it were painted on. He especially liked the look and

feel of the rubber outfits. She even had a pair of black bicycle

shorts made of latex that she insisted he try on. The unique, clingy,

slightly restrictive sensation had made him instantly hard, and when

she rubbed up against him in her purple rubber dress, he surprised them

both my suddenly coming in his pants.



The smooth, stretchy material seemed to be the ultimate in second skin,

emphasizing the shape of the body, smoothing imperfections, and even

offering a kind of isolating protection from the weather. He looked

everywhere for items made of it, but to no avail. To be sure, latex

dresses and rubber pants were shown off on perfect bodies in various

fashion magazines from time to time, but all he found locally were

rubber kitchen gloves.



Finally, he asked Mandy where she had gotten her rubber items. "Why,"

she giggled, "do you want a dress for yourself?"



"No," he lied, "I think I prefer rubber dresses on you. I thought I'd

get you something new, but I can't find anything."



"Oh, my dad bought some of it for me when he was in New York, I don't

know what store. Then I found mom looking through a catalog from some

British company, and I just asked her to order some things for me,

too."



Jason had wondered what sort of parents bought teir daughter rubber

miniskirts, but kept his thoughts to himself.



For seven months, they were inseperable, despite the accusations from

his mother that Mandy "looked like trash" in her wild, sexy outfits.

When Jason told his mom who Mandy's parents were, and what neighborhood

they lived in, that was the end of that.



He did finally get to meet Mandy's parents, and received several clues

about Mandy's maturity and free lifestyle. Both parents were highly

paid professionals, mom a mathematician for an engineering firm, and

dad a nursing instructor for a local university hospital. They were

smart, they knew their daughter was too, and they were apparently very

open minded about her sexuality. Their only iron-clad rules concerned

her academic performance, and her health. Jason learned that they were

the source of Mandy's uncommon but sensible fixation on what she

called, "safe sex".



Only once did Jason glimpse anything unusual about the senior

Rafool's. During one weekend visit to Mandy's house to get her help

with some schoolwork, Jason went to the kitchen to grab them some

Coke's. On the way back, he passed the garage door which had been left

ajar, and from which some rather frantic moaning and grunting was

coming. Upon peeking through the gap, he was greeted by the sight of a

large black mummy suspended by chains from the garage roof. The bag

looked like leather, and covered the body within it from scalp to

toes. It was liberally equipped with straps and buckles that had been

drawn tight, making the entire form-fitting arrangement quite taut.

Nonetheless, it was quirming enthusiastically, and he noticed a wire

dangling from the bag that trailed off to his right.



Then he noticed, at the edge of his view, a pair of crossed legs

belonging to someone seated just out of sight. The legs had on an

extraordinary pair of knee-high boots with high platform soles, whose

spike heels must have been a foot long! Above the boots, the legs were

dressed in something skin-tight, red, and very shiny which he suspected

was rubber. Shaking his head in amazement, he quietly returned to

Mandy's room without telling her what he had seen.



Of course, thought Jason, it was to good to last...



Mandy's mother had been hired to a lucrative position with a think tank

in Washington, DC., and the family moved away within a month. It

happened with hardly any notice, and Mandy and Jason were crushed.

They spent days saying goodbye. For almost a year, they wrote

constantly, and once Mandy's parents payed her airfare back to St.

Louis. They had a few precious days together, fortunately during

summer school break, which they spent seeing movies, shopping, and

enjoying wild and imaginative sex.



Before she left, Mandy told him that if he couldn't come to Washington,

she would be looking for another partner to spend her life with.

Although he knew it was only fair, having it out in the open drove home

the fact that he had lost her. It was years before he tried dating

again.



Years later, in an adult book store, he found a magazine dedicated to

"fetishists". The pictures of women (and men!) in corsets, rubber, and

high heels were tantalizing and a kind of relief, as he had imagined

that his fascination was unique. He bought it and went home to look up

the word, "fetish". It fits, he sighed to himself. I suppose I'll

never find another girl like Mandy. Inside the magazine, he found page

after page of amazing photographs. And the clothes! Every page showed

men and women in the most delicious rubber costumes imaginable. There

were rubber dresses, rubber shirts, long rubber gloves and stockings,

in every color one could want. There was even a severe-looking rubber

corset that compressed one happily suffering woman from her neck to her

ankles! Moreover, the people were doing the strangest things! As he

drooled over the steaming scenes, trying to figure out the straps,

hoses and other paraphernelia, he noticed a tiny ad in one corner. It

was a company that sold all these wonderful things!



Fortunately, Jason was working in the computer field, and had a good-

sized income, or he would have gone broke within a year. He ordered a

few rubber goods from that first company, and subscribed to a magazine

they mentioned. He was still getting over the shock that there were

other people out there who loved rubber as much as he! In the

magazine, there were advertisements from other companies making

everything from anoraks to zoot suits, out of several different kinds

of rubber. He had immediately reached for his checkbook.



Over the years, he built an impressive collection of rubber goods, from

tight women's dresses, to men's "blue jeans". But through it all,

despite his best efforts, he could find no-one to wear any of it with,

or to share his growing interest in bondage. Oh, he dated, and

socialized, but he never found anyone to share his secret desires.

Just once, he had dared to mention his fetish to a woman he had been

dating for some months. They had made love a few times, and she had

proved quite conservative- almost boring, Jason would have said. But

she did seem to enjoy dressing sexy, although more for looks than the

feeling of the clothes themselves, so he casually mentioned that he

would like to see her in a dress he'd bought for her, and when she

agreed, he brought out a rather plain sheath dress in shiny black

latex.



It fit her well, but she complained that it 'felt weird', and wouldn't

wear it again. He never dared to bring up the topic again.



After they stopped seeing each other, he resigned himself to a lonely

life of masturbation and fantasies.



Attending tonight's Hallowe'en party was a half-hearted attempt to get

out and see the local nightlife. He'd noticed, over the last few years,

a subtle trend toward a 'trashy and flashy' look in fashion, and had

begun to have hopes of finding a lover who shared his tastes. He had

debated for hours what to wear to the party, balancing the requirements

for a costume against his desire to "come out" in something kinky. In

the end, he settled on renting a Spanish toreador outfit worn with his

own black rubber knickers, and a simple domino mask.



It took all his courage to wear the pants, too.



But as he pulled the stretchy, shiny latex over his legs, he realized

it didn't matter what people thought, tonight was Hallowe'en! Tonight

was the one night he could wear anything at all without fear of

ridicule or outcry. He revelled in the tight, smooth feel of the

rubber jeans. To hell with it, he thought, I'm going to enjoy myself

tonight!



At the party, which was hosted by a local radio station, he was greeted

by a delightful array of leather dresses, spandex pants and skirts, and

other sexy costumes. But as he danced with various partners in turn,

he realized that to these nervously laughing people, they were just

costumes, and none of them would likely wear such things to the

office. There was no lack of spandex, plenty of cheap imitation

leather, and a fair amount of real leather, but not one bit of rubber

was to be seen. Eventually, he sat down at the bar to rest and console

himself with a drink.



Now, after two stiff scotches, he had become positively soggy with

nostalgia. So, as he sat sweltering in his sweaty costume, feeling

utterly alone in his perversion, he was overwhelmed to see two women

walk in, wearing what appeared to be mostly rubber costumes. And what

costumes! The first to enter, a tall redhead with an impossibly

exaggerated hourglass figure, was wearing what looked like a cross

between a form-fitting jacket and a corset, made of black patent

leather. She possessed the smallest waist he had ever seen. Below

that, a skin-tight glossy hobble-skirt flared around her ample hips,

compressing her legs together from waist to knee. Judging from its

smooth, shiny texture and its fluid movement as she walked, it was made

of thick latex rubber. On her legs, she wore knee-length boots with

six-inch heels, that laced all the way up.



Her companion, a shorter brunette, was dressed in a classic french

maid's uniform, complete with white doily, except that her uniform was

made entirely of rubber. She had on long black latex stockings with

lace garters showing just under the hem of her skirt. His eyes grew

wider.



On her feet were a pair of cruel looking patent leather ankle boots

with 6- inch spike heels, and heavy ankle straps attached to each other

with a sturdy little chain.



They seemed to be giving her trouble, because she faltered a bit as the

pair walked toward him. Her hands were covered by black latex gloves

and she carried an old-style feather duster. She truly looked the part,

right down to a pert little leather maids cap. Both were masked with

plain black dominoes.



As he drank in the incredible sight of the two ladies, the red-head

caught him looking and began walking toward the bar, staring him

directly in the eye the whole way. She hardly paused on the way, the

crowd parted around the pair like the Red Sea. Perhaps because of

their dress, women and men alike seemed in a hurry to get out of their

way. Jason watched her walk, mesmerized, as her legs wrestled with the

tight hobble skirt for room to breathe, the thick rubber forcing her to

take mincing steps on the precariously high heels.



It suddenly occured to Jason that the couple was probably lesbian, and

he was about to get the proverbial stuffing kicked out of him by

spike-heeled shoes. He glanced left and right, looking for an avenue

of escape. But by the time he made it to his feet, swaying slightly

from the booze, she stood before him, a stern-looking vision in rubber

and leather. She said nothing at first, looking him up and down, a

faint smile playing on her lips.



Trying to look nonchalant, Jason swung around and glanced about the

dance floor. It seemed he was not the only one who found them

attractive. Practically everyone's eyes had been locked on the pair as

they threaded their way across the dance floor.



They were still receiving hotly critical stares from a few female

partners. Finally, the red-head in the hobble skirt spoke, smiling

taughtly.



"You must really like our costumes," she said, "I could feel your stare

from across the room!"



Jason looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. It's just that, well, they are a

little little unusual, even for Hallowe'en. I mean, you seem to be

comfortable wearing this sort of thing, even those heels, which umm,

by the way, don't look easy to walk in...and you know, everyone else is

just renting their costumes for the evening. And...and they fit so

well, did you make them yourself?" he gushed. He paused for a breath.

"Sorry. Sorry, you ladies really look wonderful, I love what you're

wearing...I guess I'm just... well, it isn't every day a guy has two

gorgeous women dressed in rubber in front of him. Er, can I buy you

ladies a drink?"



"Why certainly," she replied, "we'd love to have a drink, wouldn't we,

dear?" She looked at her companion. The other woman, who Jason guessed

was a few years younger, said nothing. In fact her expression hadn't

changed since they walked up. She seemed distracted, staring off

across the room. Jason turned to the bar and ordered another Macallan,

"and whatever the ladies are having."



"And what makes you think I'm a lady?" she said coolly, eyeing him in

the bar mirror.



Oho, he thought to himself. "Despite your bizarre outfits, I've got to

assume you're a nice girl from uptown until proven otherwise," he said

wryly.



"I'm a woman, not a girl. You only get one warning."



"I'm sorry! I didn't mean...sorry. By the way, my name's Jason."



"Enchente', Jason. For this evening, I am 'Mistress Mayhem', and this

is my faithful sidekick, 'Maid Marion'.



"Maid Marion! Aaugh!" he groaned at her pun as the drinks arrived. 



"So, Maid Marion, what prompted you to do this particular scene?" She

looked blankly back at him, or rather, just over his shoulder. She

seemed not to hear. Odd. Her makeup is a tad to heavy, he thought.

He noticed now too, that her free hand was bound to her waist by a

slender leather cuff attached to her waist-belt. It looked very much

like his dreams had come true!



"She ahh, doesn't talk much, I'm afraid," said 'Mayhem', "but, really,

the whole thing was my idea. I liked the idea of a Hallowe'en costume

party, and actually, we dress up in costume quite a bit. We didn't

make the outfits, it's too tricky working with rubber, you have to get

the seams just right. We have them custom made overseas."



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