by Emily Montgomery
Think about it: Have you ever been walking through the mall and gone out of your way to pass the leather shop just to inhale its rich scent? I have. You might have seen me perusing the designer handbags, never guessing that I have a secret life. That slender, stylish young woman a rubber and leather fetishist? Absurd—or is it?
By day I am deputy chief of marketing for a midsize Chicago firm, and I dress in typical feminine executive fashion. Likewise, my husband affects three-piece suits. But in private we let our complementary love for leather and rubber take us into a far-from-ordinary world of sexual pleasure.
I am told that most fetishes evolve with the gradual awareness that some object or texture has been eroticized. That may well be for a lot of people, but for me it would be only half right. My fetish for leather and rubber came into being in two utterly different stages.
Leather, with its varied textures and delicious smell, has always appealed to me. Whether it is the hard sheen of riding boots, the supple second skin of my man’s tight leather trousers, or the rough outdoorsman feel of suede, all it takes is one caress and I am off on a flight of erotic fancy. Leather evokes rugged men and fast horses, power and strength combined into one sensuous whole. While I do enjoy wearing handmade boots and carrying a finely crafted purse, leather is for the man in my life to wear and use, and for me to stroke, smell, and taste as he builds my excitement.
Rubber, on the other hand, is something I stumbled upon by accident. I enjoy close-fitting garments, and in the course of our erotic play, Daniel introduced me to corsets and collars, as well as all sorts of delightfully confining bondage. Each had its own appeal, but nothing “hummed” to me as intensely as the rubber bodysuit he gave me for my birthday a couple years ago. Nestled in its gift box all glistening in black, it resembled a long-sleeved leotard and had a crotch that could be unsnapped.
I had never thought of buying myself anything rubber. I had no idea how to get into it, but Daniel helped me slither into the confines of the bodysuit in little stages, easing the way with judicious applications of some talcum powder to make my entry less arduous. He knelt in front of me and took a tantalizingly long time to do up the snaps of the crotch piece. I was shivering with pleasure as he stood up and surveyed the effect.
Leather was an extension of Daniel’s animal attractiveness, and I worshiped at its shrine with great regularity—as I would that very evening. The smooth confining clutch of the rubber suit, at once revealing and impervious, was beginning to work a subtle change in my psyche. I was no longer a suppliant who begged for her identity at her master’s feet, though I would still adore licking my way up Daniel’s leather-clad legs and unfastening the fly of his pants with my teeth in an effort to free his cock for my closer attention.
No, with the donning of the simple rubber bodysuit I had metamorphosed into a goddess in my own right, like some ancient statue come to life. My surface was sleek and impenetrable, my scent and my bodily fluids confined in my armor’s unbreathing grasp. To share the secret orifices of my body, a suitor would have to be invited on a quest that would be fulfilled only if I desired and allowed it. The rush of erotic power and autonomy was almost as great as the sheer physical sensation of being enclosed in this splendid garment. Perhaps, indeed, the two feelings were but mirror images of each other.
I sidled up to Daniel and ran my fingers down the front of his leather vest before stroking his well-muscled chest with its nest of graying fur. Cowhide and manhide merged under my hands, both dear, both stirring my sexual nature. I took his hips in my hands and pulled him close to me, feeling his burgeoning erection stir as I ground my pelvis into his. This was going to be a memorable evening.
This newborn goddess decided to run her hands and tongue down the outsides of his leather-sheathed legs. Teasingly I stroked my way to his inner thighs, mouthing the outline of his balls and distended cock, which had molded themselves into the well-worn leather. My breath warmed the smooth hide, and as I opened his fly I was assailed by sensations both familiar and new: the scent of Daniel’s body, enhanced by the leather of his pants, the unfamiliar aroma of the rubber, and a poignant awareness of my own body that I had never before experienced.
I was suddenly conscious of every nerve ending and movement within the artificial environment of my bodysuit. That somehow made me freer to possess my own feelings, and at the same time seemed to be the apotheosis of the artifice women are trained to take on to please their men. More myself than ever before, I was also more completely Daniel’s. My mind reeling with the paradox, I gave myself over to my senses.
As though he could feel the gathering whirlwind of my erotic energies, Daniel thrust his erection toward my mouth. He was harder than he had ever been, swollen and purple, and he sighed as I took him between my lips. I lapped around the ridge of his cockhead and then swallowed him as deeply as I could. My hands cupped his tight ass and drew him into me as his fingers twined in my hair, egging me on before they fell to my sleek rubber shoulders.
As I began to feel his balls tighten, he pulled away from my voracious mouth and dragged me to my feet. Smiling, he kissed me, tasting himself on my lips, caressing my arms and sides and breasts in their marblelike coolness. “Do you like it?” he whispered. I nodded and kissed him harder, begging him to keep going.
His hands felt good as they glided over my smooth surface, savoring its unblemished perfection. I raised my arms and folded them around his neck as he bent to kiss my gleaming breasts. I was more aware of the intensity of his lust than of the pressure of his kiss, but that in no way diminished my rising pleasure. His hand slipped between my legs, eliciting a shiver as his fingers danced along my body.
He stroked my crotch firmly, sending urgent messages of lust through my rubber skin to my labia and my eager clit. Suddenly I wanted him inside me, wanted him to turn this perfect model of a woman into sweating flesh and pounding blood. He understood my longing, and unsnapped the crotch piece before he laid me out on the bed and slid between my thighs. He ran his tongue along the joining of flesh and rubber, making me moan before he even touched my clit. When his tongue dove into my wet depths, I was running my hands over my rubber-cupped breasts, wanting his weight against them and dying to have his hard cock inside me.
Daniel rose up and pulled my legs farther apart. He opened my labia and ran the head of his magnificent prick along my clit, driving me wild before he plunged the whole length of himself balls-deep into my aching passage. He was swept up in my passion as it fired his own, and soon all that could be heard was the creak and slap of leather, rubber, and sweaty flesh coming together faster and faster as our excitement grew unbearable. I dissolved into quivering jelly, held together only by my rubber shell, while Daniel stiffened in my arms and jerked his ass as his come poured into me. We lay there for a long time, panting and delighted with our discovery.
Just that simple black-rubber leotard was the first of a whole wardrobe of rubber garments, including a complete catsuit, several bustiers, and many, many dresses, skirts, and halter tops of ingenious design in a rainbow of colors. I have had friends say that they got into rubber as a less expensive alternative to leather, but I can testify that, beyond the simple man’s rubber muscle shirt, rubber comes in as varied and costly array as anything the leather fetishist can imagine. Luckily, both Daniel and I earn enough to invest in the indulgence of our fetishistic fantasies as well as in the stock market.
My favorite outfit, and the one I wore to last year’s local fetish ball, is a simple gown made of midnight blue rubber. It is essentially a slip dress that hugs my slender curves from my breasts to mid-thigh, accentuating my long legs. What gives it a Roaring Twenties flair is the addition of a spiraling fringe that creates the effect of rows upon rows of perpetual motion, gently blurring the preternatural smoothness of my body as I dance. For the ball I added a rubber choker and “headache band,” both covered in sparkling glitter. Rolled stockings and a feather boa completed the flapper image. I even learned to do a mean Charleston, and I cakewalked away with the ladies’ prize for best period costume.
Dressing up is not the only way in which Daniel and I indulge our fetishes. We make use of our favorite textures in a variety of ways, some of them astonishingly simple. For example, Daniel loves it when I caress his body with my hands sheathed in ordinary latex gloves, and I enjoy the powdery dampness of their close fit. Latex surgical gloves come in small, medium, and large—you only have to consult your pharmacist, a medical-supply catalog, or the local army-surplus or police-gear store. At the latter, they even come with a neat leather pouch to fasten to a belt—all the handier for impromptu body searches of suspicious characters.
Another ultra-simple rubber toy is the old-fashioned bathing cap. Not the heavy kind with the sculpted waves or flowers, but the thin and unadorned sort your health club probably sells in the changing room. Sometimes I love to play with Daniel’s cock and balls, with the bathing cap covering my hand, other times with his genitals packaged in its thin and supple embrace as I squeeze and stroke, until he bucks his hips and shoots his load.
The comic downside to a rubber fetish, at least from my point of view, is that I am now reluctant to try scuba diving when we holiday in the islands. My desire to swim with dolphins and manta rays is as strong as ever, but I am a little afraid that in the caressing clutch of my favorite fabric I would simply forget to breathe!
My love for leather’s myriad textures has found another expression in our collection of long-tailed cats of the whip variety. None of them are thin enough to elicit any serious pain or to mark my bottom with much more than a divinely pink glow, but I enjoy feeling them brush against my ass flesh as much as Daniel likes swinging the cat with mock severity and bringing up that blossoming color.
Probably our most delicious playtime with the cats involves my dressing in a rubber-and-spandex halter top and practically backless bikini bottom that cups my sex while leaving my asscheeks completely exposed, outlined roundly by the narrow thong between them and the band at my waist. Both Daniel and I find this combination irresistible, each for our own reasons. He usually dresses up for the occasion in his favorite leather chaps, leaving his cock and balls to hang free but giving me all that leathered thigh space to squirm on as he lays me across his lap or shoves himself up against my blazing ass.
The last time we played this particular little game, he started out by hauling me over his knees and spanking me, his hands gloved in leather, bringing up a deliciously sexual frisson with each handprint, warming my rubber-cupped sex and making me whimper for more as my flesh heated up with each swat. I tried to rub my hipbone into his crotch, but his implacable hand would not be distracted. Daniel’s mission was to warm me up for the cat, and warm me up he did. His big hand slapped my asscheeks again and again until I was burning.
My juices were squishing about in the little cache-sexe cupping my mound by the time Daniel rolled me off his lap and had me bend over the hassock of his leather easy chair. I rubbed my body over its smooth hide and purred as he selected his whip. The first smack told me it was the one with the wide, smooth tails, producing a mildly crisp crop of tingles when the ends connected with my ass, and a streak of warmth where the length of the tails collided with my skin. This was a different sensation from the heaviness of his hand—a more defined touch that eventually blended into the erotic heat building in my ass and cunt.
Before I could get my fill, however, he switched to the softer but rougher suede cat, whose long tails were of similar size but whose texture ignited the places that had grown accustomed to the smoothness of the first cat’s sting. That slight roughness sent me over some kind of edge into a delirium of almost-coming, in which I was aware of every stroke but somehow past knowing that it was my ass that felt them. I was one bundle of erotically charged nerve endings, ready to explode.
I was shaking as Daniel unhooked my thong and spread my asscheeks. His fingers were coals of fire on my glowing ass, and I gasped as his cock speared my cunt while the coolness of his leathers slapped against my rosy flesh. This fucking doggy-style was an extension of the spanking, and it drew all that delicious sensation into one fiery climax after the other. My arms gripped the broad hassock, and my ass jerked uncontrollably in an effort to merge its heat with that of Daniel’s cock and his swinging balls, and to weld my sweaty body to the rapidly warming smoothness of his leather-covered thighs. His sweat mingled with the smell of well-oiled leather, and rivulets of perspiration pooled between my breasts inside the rubber carapace of my halter top.
I was going to die if I did not come again, and I was going to die if this sweet agony were doomed to end. Fortunately Daniel gave me no choice but to erupt into wave after wave of throbbing ecstasy that gripped the muscles of my vagina around his engorged cock and milked every drop of come from him as he thrust and thrust into the depths of my very soul. We were gasping for breath as conscious thoughts began slowly to coalesce from the fog of lust.
Daniel pulled me back against his broad, sweaty chest and rocked me in his arms. His lips nuzzled my neck under my damp hair, and I drifted into a pleasantly mindless afterglow broken only by a vivid memory of that first night I had donned my rubber goddess persona and discovered a whole new level of intimate fetishism. I am so lucky to have a man who knows me so well—sometimes better than I know myself—and whose fetishes dovetail so perfectly with my own.
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