Bondage/airubb01
                                     Dr. Hevea
                              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.

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 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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