Earlier this week (on the #MasturbationMonday meme) I shared a guest post, the first part of a very hot story by Francesca Demont. Her erotica features the latex kink and is certainly educating me regarding how very sexy, in a specific way, the experience of ‘playing’ in latex is.
I suggest you read Part 1 here, but if you simply need your memory refreshed, the story so far:
Jennifer, a shapely young woman unacquainted with the appeals of latex apparel, gets chatting to a stranger in a hotel bar. Sensing his latex fashion shots have piqued her curiosity, he offers to introduce her to the fetish club scene. In his room she needs his assistance to dress in loaned latex – a constricting jumpsuit.
I am still in awe at the silhouette that stares back at me from across the room when he begins spraying the next layer on me. “GLOSS”. That much I can read before again picking up my hair. I thought the catsuit was perfectly shiny and looked nearly like the pictures on his iPad. But that was before the gloss was added.
He pulls out a soft cloth to wipe any excess spray off the catsuit. He does this like a painter; using long strokes, always following the flow of my body curves from top to bottom. For him, this is an art form. For me, this is so far beyond foreplay. He brushes over my breasts, between my legs. I become his model.
“Done”, he says.
There is a sense of victory, of accomplishment in his voice. He is proud of his work, and of the way I look. I turn around to face the mirror and almost faint. If I thought the catsuit was shiny before, what he just did in the past few minutes has turned me into a gorgeous, smooth, shimmering work of art.
Every ray of light is reflected off my skin like a perfectly smooth mirror. I have never seen anything as erotic, as beautiful in my life.
I want to fuck the image in the mirror so bad.
Now, every part of it clings to my body, every nook and every crease. I am touching myself. The latex makes every touch infinitely more sensitive. My own hands cause my skin to tingle, my pussy wants in on the action.
In the background, I hear some faint ‘clicks’ from his camera. I don’t care. Right now, I’m alone. I have myself and that is all I need. This night is for me.
“Alright, we’re done”, he says showing me a perfect fetish image of myself on his iPad.
I fall back on the soft pillows at the end of his bed.
“You may cum now,” he says, and a massive orgasm finally ripples through my body.
I know my body well. I’m used to masturbating. This was different. No touch, no help, no toys. Just the overwhelming sense of being a different person.
I am having sex with the person I always wanted to be. Gone is the Wall Street girl. Here comes the new Jennifer.
The projector plays images against the wall. The lights are turned off. I’m still recovering from the eruption in my pussy. He has left the room, but the smell of latex hasn’t. I look at the clock next to the bed and it’s already well into the early morning hours.
Shit, he probably went out by himself and I didn’t even notice. Fuck, who cares about the clubs and what other people wear when I have myself.
I look at the images against the screen on the wall. The soundtrack of ’Fifty Shades of Grey’ is playing in the background. Short clips change in rapid succession. All women in latex. Some look like the ones I had seen earlier in the bar on his iPad. The cycle repeats itself every few minutes.
There it is. Again, and again. My catsuit, my skin, my body. I should be furious, but I’m not. The cycle slows down. My short clip goes into slow-motion. I’m lying on the bed, my hands gripping the headboard. My body is shaking, and my eyes rolled back. I never saw myself having an orgasm. Now I can’t take my eyes off myself.
I gather up my clothes and quietly return to my room. It is neatly arranged, two identical navy-blue suits in the closet. Two identical pairs of designer shoes. Everything is so proper. I throw my clothes in a corner, lie down on my bed and turn on the projector. The soundtrack starts. The same as in his room. The clips pass, they seem the same. And there I am. Over, and over, and over.
Just one more time, I slow down the images, watch myself. My pussy is already wet again.
Then realization hits.
If the same series of clips is running in his room and in mine, how many other people are getting off on seeing me on their screen?
I’m the one they are jerking off to, I’m the one they wish they could touch. They can’t, but I do.
Phew! If you crave more latex fetish adventures, why not download more of Francesca Demont‘s fiction – a series of books about the journey of Clarissa, an escort available on Amazon? Follow Francesca on Twitter @DemontFrancesca or visit her blog.
Francesca explained to me: “The setting for this story is based on an actual hotel in Berlin that has a projector in each room showing erotic clips, set to the Fifty Shades of Grey theme. It has gotten me in the mood more than once.” Francesca doesn’t suspect the hotel tapes customers without their knowledge/permission – that was her poetic licence.
This piece of fiction was generously shared by Francesca Demont for #WickedWednesday. Click the links to see who else is sharing, we love likes and comments.