My Master has commanded I write to you. I’ve never written to an editor before, and certainly not concerning my slave reactions to this new experience which has changed my whole life!
He wants me to put down my feelings as a reasonably intelligent and responsible woman of 32, who until recently imagined that sex was a pleasant and relaxed way of spending an evening. Until I met J! Let me say right away that I love him dearly, monster that he is. He is 50, brilliant in his own field, and a wonderful sense of humour. I adore him. A year ago I moved in with him, and slowly and with great understanding he turned me into his rubber slave.
How? By love and warmth and a strict course of training! At first, I went along with it for his sake, to please him, then damn me if I didn’t start to get turned on by it! I suppose all women, at heart, are a bit masochistic, and I found myself longing for the fateful words “When I return tonight you will be suitably dressed and ready, here are your dressing instructions!”
But oh! he was so crafty and clever; subtle, too. One step forward and two steps backwards. Not since he started a year ago has he ever scared me or gone too far during a session. In fact, sometimes I found myself pleading with him to continue, after he had called a halt to my training.
So here I am, fully dressed and sitting at a typewriter, a heavy chain padlocking me to the desk, ordered to give your readers my thoughts. I have a greased rod strapped into my bottom, with heavy rubber pants on top, and I can squirm deliciously in my chair. Over that I have a thick black latex suit and high-heeled boots, a very tight corset, and a comfortable latex mask with eyes, nose and mouth openings. However, I am also gagged tightly, although it is not the large punishment ball gag which sometimes I have to wear and really becomes hell after half an hour.
On top of this outfit I have a long caftan made of very thick black latex, and with an elasticated hood which tightly covers most of my head, effectively preventing me from loosening the strap of my gag at the back (as if I dared!). I also have on long latex gloves, thin enough so that t can still type.
So what do I tell your readers? Until I met J. I never knew or suspected this wonderful world of rubber and bondage. How can I describe the ecstasy of being taken out to a restaurant, or going shopping, totally clad in tight rubber beneath my normal clothes? Of going country walks in heavy thigh boots and a long rustling mackintosh with a thick rod chained loosely inside so that it can mack in its grease with every step? The feeling of dread and excitement as I prepare for my whipping, sliding into the special suit, skin-tight and thick (giving me some small protection) and the wonderful feeling of helplessness as my Master straps me tightly into position over the padded whipping table? Again, his technique is flawless. The lashes are never too sudden or too hard, a gradual heightening of my senses until I’m begging him for more, feeling my massive climax coming closer, sinking into a dream world of love and pain.
Sometimes he puts me into meditation, if he has a busy evening and must work at his papers. I am put into three heavy suits, the first two of latex and the final one a thick leather sheath without arms. Booted, and with three pairs of gloves, a latex mask, and over it a leather helmet with only nose holes. Then I’m laid on the bed and twelve straps hold me like a mummy from toes to neck.
Its pure heaven! Usually I’m rodded as well, and despite my severe bondage, I try to mack on it, drifting off into a dream world. I’m left there for a minimum of two hours, but sometimes as a punishment he comes to bed and leaves me like that, lying totally rigid beside him for the entire night.
Of, course, readers, I’m very fortunate. My Master has a superb flair and sense of what l want and what I need. He plays upon my feelings like a cherished violin. He has taught me the subtle different moods of rubber; the thin tight latex to make me feel attractive; the smell and rustle of black rubber; the heavy masochistic feel of thick punishment suits; the sinister moments – exciting moments – of a loose suffocation hood; the joy of getting dressed to go outside, completely rubbered, but showing only smart boots and an elegant black mackintosh.
My Master recently bought a copy of the Masters and Mistresses Handbook, which he approves of highly, and has given me to read. Over the next few months I am to suffer every chapter of training and punishment in the book. I was appalled at first, but now find a secret longing to experience every marvellous descriptive passage. What an incredible book it is!
So, to women readers who are overcautious or not yet sold on the idea of wearing delicious rubber, little by little. If he loves you he will not make you run before you can walk (on high-heeled boots). Just relax, and feel that gorgeous cool rustle against your skin, electrifying your love for him, magnifying it a hundred times more. I am a devoted slave.
– Audrey (France)
We get a number of letters that are the fantasies of our readers. While these open make fascinating reading, we try as far as possible to verify that the letters (and pictures) we publish are genuine. We happen to know the author of this letter and can testify to the truth of what she writes. – Ed.