Christmas Latex Slut I
By Lilith
Santa came to with a start. His head was throbbing and his eyelids felt like they had some fine grit trapped under them that made opening his eyes more than a little difficult. He groaned and yawned. “There must have been something strange in those cookies on the mantle,’’ he thought as he struggled to recall where he was and what he had been doing when he blacked out. “Or maybe it was something in that glass of milk . . . “
He realized that he was sitting up in a chair. Not only that, but he was feeling a distinct draft. Suddenly he realized that his cozy fur-trimmed red suit was gone.
He squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the details of the dungeon-like room in which he sat. He wanted to rub his eyes to clear his vision but he couldn’t raise either of his arms. As his eyes slowly focused, he saw that his arms were strapped to the arms of the heavy wooden chair in which he sat. What’s more, his hands and arms were sheathed with tight black rubber gloves that ended about eight inches above his elbows!
As he struggled to clear his vision, he noticed that his clothing had, in fact, been entirely stripped from his ample body, which, incidentally, had been shaved as hairless as an infant’s tummy. It was not surprising that he felt chilly: instead of his cuddly red and white Christmas suit, his torso had been cinched mercilessly into a thick rubber corset that was laced so tightly that it pinched his flabby stomach into a ridiculously narrow wasp’s waist of only about 28 inches. At the top of the shiny black garment, the generous white flesh of his chest had been bunched up into two mammoth and very feminine looking breasts which mounded out of the rubber cups of the corset’s built-in brassiere.
“What in thunder is going on?” the stunned elf muttered aloud in shock. “What has happened to my clothes? How did I get wedged into this infernal rubber girdle?”
He tried to move his feet but found that they, too, were immobilized. In the darkness he could see that nylon stockings had been carefully pulled up his legs and clipped to heavy-duty rubber garters that were attached to the corset’s bottom. He could not see his feet – they appeared to have been strapped to the legs of the stout chair, which was bolted securely to the floor. However, he could tell by the odd position they were held in that they had been strapped into some very tight shoes with extraordinarily high heels.
Clearing his throat, he called out for help. For a few moments, he heard nothing. Then, in the distance, he heard the click-click-clicking of a woman approaching in high-heeled shoes.
There was a door some twenty feet away from the chair that confined him, and the light that poured through as it opened temporarily blinded him. He heard a click and the room was flooded with brightness.
“Good! You finally woke up! Now we can finish you up,” came a woman’s low and smoky voice as he blinked his watering eyes and struggled to see.
The woman who stood before him was an Amazon who towered more than six feet tall in her incredibly high-heeled black patent platform boots. Her hair fell black and straight to her wide hips, past a perfectly proportioned upper body with the most gigantic breasts he had ever seen. Her waist was nipped in sharply and her exaggerated torso was snugly nestled into a jet black rubber dress that ended halfway down her thighs, about four inches above the tops of her skin tight boots. Her hands and arms were concealed with opera length black latex gloves like those on Santa’s own arms, and in one hand she held a foot-long cigarette holder with an ultra-long filtered cigarette already flaring in its end. She raised it and took a deep drag, letting the smoke slowly stream from the moue of her mouth. Her lips were well-formed and painted such a dark red that they almost seemed black against the porcelain whiteness of her skin, but they were so huge they appeared grotesque – like a parody of a normal woman’s features.
The rest of her face was as exotically made up as her lips: razor thin eyebrows were painted in a high black arch high above her deep-set, heavy lidded eyes; her lashes were so extravagant they had to be fakes – and probably two full sets, at that; the dark rouge on her cheeks accentuated the height of her cheekbones, and made them appear immense mounds alongside the narrow snub of her nose.
Raven black bangs as straight as a gunshot ended just above the parabolas of her brows. Beneath them, her eyelids were layered in creamy white, azure and pale blue shades of eye shadow. Her dramatically large eyes had been thickly ringed with black liner, making them appear even larger against the paleness of her face.
“Well, Santa dear,” the latex clad Amazon drawled as the last of the smoke drifted from her tiny nostrils. “You’ve certainly kept me waiting long enough. I wanted to save the last stage of your transformation for when you were awake. I wanted you to be conscious when I finished converting you into my slutty little latex maid!”
Santa spluttered, helplessly flexing his hands inside the tight black latex gloves.
“See here, Miss – I don’t know who you are or what you think you are doing, but whatever it is, it has gone quite far enough,” he stammered angrily. “This is Christmas Eve, blast it! I have gifts to deliver. You are keeping c***dren waiting for their Christmas presents.”
She stepped closer and bared perfect white teeth in a sneer of contempt.
“Shut your mouth, slut!” she said viciously, biting off the words with an edge of menace. “I know that my house was the last one on your route tonight! You’ve finished all your deliveries for this Christmas. I could keep you here as a prisoner indefinitely, and aside from the people at your North Pole workshop, nobody would realize you were gone until next December 25!”
She lifted his chin roughly with one latex-gloved hand, still smiling cruelly in her triumph. “As it is, if you behave yourself – and do EXACTLY as I say – I will release you in time to go back to your workshop and begin preparing for next year. Let’s see – that would give me more than a week, wouldn’t it?”
Santa sagged in his bonds. His artificially pushed up breasts rose and fell in a sad sigh of realization: she had him in her power, totally. His workshop elves had already gone on holiday hiatus when he left with this year’s sleigh full of goodies. Work on next season’s inventory would not begin until the second week of January. He was baffled at how she seemed to know his schedule so exactly.
“But my wife!” he spluttered desperately. “She – she’ll be expecting me back. She will know something odd has happened and will send people out to look for me. You’ll never get away with this – not even for a week!”
She dropped his chin and her smile grew even more terrible. “Ah, yes!” she said bitterly. “The little woman! The obedient, self-sacrificing Mrs. Claus – human doormat! Do you think I don’t know she has gone to Florida to spend the entire month of January with her sister? Or did you forget she was gone yourself?”
She took another deep puff from her cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke directly into his face, sending him into a fit of coughing.
He realized that she was right and hope fled entirely. Mrs. Claus had taken the Polar Express south that very morning before he left on his annual delivery rounds. He had been so consumed with his last minute preparations that he had not come to the North Pole station to see her off. As he remembered that Mrs. Claus would be gone for the next 35 days, he sagged again with resignation.
“So you had forgotten that little detail, had you?” the sleek, rubber-clad Amazon said with a nasty laugh. “How perfectly like you. So tied up in your own affairs, your own compulsive, self-important sense of duty, that you didn’t even realize she wasn’t going to be waiting up there for you. Not too surprising, really. The word has gotten around, Santa dear. You generally treat her like a piece of the North Pole furniture anyway. It’s no wonder you forgot she was going to be gone.”
She removed the cigarette from her holder and crushed it out beneath one of her jet black high-heeled boots with an impatient stamp of her foot.
“You can just forget about being rescued, slut,” she said venomously. “You can forget all about your duties. I am going to give you some new duties to think about for the next few days – maybe even longer, if I choose. Instead of serving boys and girls all round the world, you can serve me as my own little latex maid. If you are a good little slut, I will give you your freedom. If not . . . well, in that case, you will get a lump of coal in your nylon stocking – and a night on my Iron Cross to ponder your disobedient, self-centered ways.”
Santa did not know what an Iron Cross was, but it sounded unpleasant. He shuddered, and the china white flesh of his mounded “breasts” jiggled provocatively with the action.
The Amazon strode to a table on a far wall and opened a large box that was sitting on it. “But first, it’s time to finish your transformation into my little slut handmaiden,” she said with an unpleasant chuckle. “Time to say goodbye to Santa Claus, slave. Time for you to become Lola, my latex slave!”
She pulled what looked like a bust of a woman’s head and shoulders from the box, except that this bust was painted in lifelike colors and had reddish blond hair that fell in cascades of loose curls down its back and shoulders. Reaching behind, she pulled down a hidden zipper and removed the “woman’s” face and hair from the piece of statuary. Then she approached Santa menacingly, holding the wriggling mass in front of her and grinning with malice at his growing dread.
As she closed on him, he could see that the “skin” in her hands was a rubber mask, made to fit the wearer precisely from crown to shoulders. She shook it loose in front of his face and, grunting slightly with the effort, stretched it carefully over his head, pulling in spots to seat the thick, cold rubber over his own elfin features. As she roughly sheathed his head in the rubber garment, he realized that his beard had been shaven off while he was u*********s, and was vaguely aware that his hair had been cropped closely, too. He attempted to protest, but his murmurs were ignored as she fitted the tight rubber hood into place and pulled down the zipper at its rear, completely sealing him inside.
She brandished a tiny padlock before him, allowing him to get a good look at it through the eyeholes of the mask, then attached it at the rear of the hood with an ominous metallic click.
“There!” she said with satisfaction as she fluffed the mask’s auburn tresses at the sides and back of Santa’s completely concealed head. “Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you now. Only I know where the key to that lock is. And believe me, no locksmith on Earth can break into it.”
She held a hand mirror in front of his rubber-shrouded face so that he could see what she had done. A blandly beautiful female stared back at him impassively, with daintily painted lips of pink, long curling lashes and just enough rouge to give her cheeks a permanently embarrassed blush at her helplessly humiliated situation. Santa’s light blue eyes were his only features that were actually visible through the mask, and they were so perfectly aligned with the eyeholes that they simply appeared to be part of a living woman’s face.
Oddly, as he stared at his image, Santa found his new appearance oddly exciting. His genitalia, trapped under a pair of tight thick black rubber panties, gave a throb of sexual arousal inside their latex cocoon. The reflection that stared back at him seemed incredibly sexy, with pale skin and large rounded bosoms. He opened his mouth in surprise and was astonished to see the female face in the mirror mimic his action perfectly. He licked the mask’s lips slowly, watching as the red tip of his tongue as it slid over the sensual dark pink rubber that covered his mouth. The image was somehow intoxicating!
The Amazon brandished a small black device with two silvery metal prongs in front of him before speaking again.
“This is a stun gun, slut,” she said with a wicked grin. “It can give a 45,000 volt shock — enough to knock a fully grown man to the ground and keep him there for several seconds. You are locked inside your corset. You are locked into your maid’s shoes and your slutty maid’s face. You cannot get out of this outfit, no matter how you try. There are no sharp-edged tools in this house that could be used for cutting, and all your rubber garments are much too thick to tear manually. I know that v******e is not your way, but in case to attempt to struggle or escape, I will give you a jolt with the stun gun, and you will wake up locked in chains.”
She slipped the weapon into a holster on a wide leather belt that hung low on her latex-clad hips, then unfastened the straps on his hands and legs.
“Get up, slut!” she hissed, beckoning with a latex covered finger. “I have many tasks for you to perform.”
Santa stood up unsteadily on the teetering heels of his shoes and struggled to control the shaking of his long bound limbs. He inclined his head to the Amazon as a gesture of total supplication, and followed her out of his dungeon cell. As he walked through the doorway, he caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror hanging on the wall. He could scarcely believe the reflection was his own.
The image in the glass was that of a tall, zaftig female, with massive swelling breasts, an impossibly slender waist and large hips. She teetered on a pair of ankle-strapped black patent leather shoes with six inch high heels. Her well-formed legs were smoothly covered with dark, seamed nylon stockings clipped to garters at the skirt of the heavy rubber corset that gave her delectable body its large but lovely shape. Her arms were gloved past her elbows, and her face was the very picture of innocence, framed by shoulder length strawberry blond curls.
With equal feelings of humiliation, dread and outright sexual excitement, Santa gave up hope of escaping. He was trapped inside his new persona: Lola, the Amazon’s latex slut. But surprisingly enough, deep inside he was elated. This was something new, incredibly arousing and amazingly wonderful – something different from anything that had ever happened to him before. In a way, he gloried at his helplessness, and looked forward to being ordered around by the frightening but sexually exciting dominatrix that had taken him captive.
He decided that he would give himself over completely to this powerful and cruel woman. He would do whatever she demanded.
And, secretly, he knew he would enjoy it!
(To Be Continued)
Santa came to with a start. His head was throbbing and his eyelids felt like they had some fine grit trapped under them that made opening his eyes more than a little difficult. He groaned and yawned. “There must have been something strange in those cookies on the mantle,’’ he thought as he struggled to recall where he was and what he had been doing when he blacked out. “Or maybe it was something in that glass of milk . . . “
He realized that he was sitting up in a chair. Not only that, but he was feeling a distinct draft. Suddenly he realized that his cozy fur-trimmed red suit was gone.
He squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the details of the dungeon-like room in which he sat. He wanted to rub his eyes to clear his vision but he couldn’t raise either of his arms. As his eyes slowly focused, he saw that his arms were strapped to the arms of the heavy wooden chair in which he sat. What’s more, his hands and arms were sheathed with tight black rubber gloves that ended about eight inches above his elbows!
As he struggled to clear his vision, he noticed that his clothing had, in fact, been entirely stripped from his ample body, which, incidentally, had been shaved as hairless as an infant’s tummy. It was not surprising that he felt chilly: instead of his cuddly red and white Christmas suit, his torso had been cinched mercilessly into a thick rubber corset that was laced so tightly that it pinched his flabby stomach into a ridiculously narrow wasp’s waist of only about 28 inches. At the top of the shiny black garment, the generous white flesh of his chest had been bunched up into two mammoth and very feminine looking breasts which mounded out of the rubber cups of the corset’s built-in brassiere.
“What in thunder is going on?” the stunned elf muttered aloud in shock. “What has happened to my clothes? How did I get wedged into this infernal rubber girdle?”
He tried to move his feet but found that they, too, were immobilized. In the darkness he could see that nylon stockings had been carefully pulled up his legs and clipped to heavy-duty rubber garters that were attached to the corset’s bottom. He could not see his feet – they appeared to have been strapped to the legs of the stout chair, which was bolted securely to the floor. However, he could tell by the odd position they were held in that they had been strapped into some very tight shoes with extraordinarily high heels.
Clearing his throat, he called out for help. For a few moments, he heard nothing. Then, in the distance, he heard the click-click-clicking of a woman approaching in high-heeled shoes.
There was a door some twenty feet away from the chair that confined him, and the light that poured through as it opened temporarily blinded him. He heard a click and the room was flooded with brightness.
“Good! You finally woke up! Now we can finish you up,” came a woman’s low and smoky voice as he blinked his watering eyes and struggled to see.
The woman who stood before him was an Amazon who towered more than six feet tall in her incredibly high-heeled black patent platform boots. Her hair fell black and straight to her wide hips, past a perfectly proportioned upper body with the most gigantic breasts he had ever seen. Her waist was nipped in sharply and her exaggerated torso was snugly nestled into a jet black rubber dress that ended halfway down her thighs, about four inches above the tops of her skin tight boots. Her hands and arms were concealed with opera length black latex gloves like those on Santa’s own arms, and in one hand she held a foot-long cigarette holder with an ultra-long filtered cigarette already flaring in its end. She raised it and took a deep drag, letting the smoke slowly stream from the moue of her mouth. Her lips were well-formed and painted such a dark red that they almost seemed black against the porcelain whiteness of her skin, but they were so huge they appeared grotesque – like a parody of a normal woman’s features.
The rest of her face was as exotically made up as her lips: razor thin eyebrows were painted in a high black arch high above her deep-set, heavy lidded eyes; her lashes were so extravagant they had to be fakes – and probably two full sets, at that; the dark rouge on her cheeks accentuated the height of her cheekbones, and made them appear immense mounds alongside the narrow snub of her nose.
Raven black bangs as straight as a gunshot ended just above the parabolas of her brows. Beneath them, her eyelids were layered in creamy white, azure and pale blue shades of eye shadow. Her dramatically large eyes had been thickly ringed with black liner, making them appear even larger against the paleness of her face.
“Well, Santa dear,” the latex clad Amazon drawled as the last of the smoke drifted from her tiny nostrils. “You’ve certainly kept me waiting long enough. I wanted to save the last stage of your transformation for when you were awake. I wanted you to be conscious when I finished converting you into my slutty little latex maid!”
Santa spluttered, helplessly flexing his hands inside the tight black latex gloves.
“See here, Miss – I don’t know who you are or what you think you are doing, but whatever it is, it has gone quite far enough,” he stammered angrily. “This is Christmas Eve, blast it! I have gifts to deliver. You are keeping c***dren waiting for their Christmas presents.”
She stepped closer and bared perfect white teeth in a sneer of contempt.
“Shut your mouth, slut!” she said viciously, biting off the words with an edge of menace. “I know that my house was the last one on your route tonight! You’ve finished all your deliveries for this Christmas. I could keep you here as a prisoner indefinitely, and aside from the people at your North Pole workshop, nobody would realize you were gone until next December 25!”
She lifted his chin roughly with one latex-gloved hand, still smiling cruelly in her triumph. “As it is, if you behave yourself – and do EXACTLY as I say – I will release you in time to go back to your workshop and begin preparing for next year. Let’s see – that would give me more than a week, wouldn’t it?”
Santa sagged in his bonds. His artificially pushed up breasts rose and fell in a sad sigh of realization: she had him in her power, totally. His workshop elves had already gone on holiday hiatus when he left with this year’s sleigh full of goodies. Work on next season’s inventory would not begin until the second week of January. He was baffled at how she seemed to know his schedule so exactly.
“But my wife!” he spluttered desperately. “She – she’ll be expecting me back. She will know something odd has happened and will send people out to look for me. You’ll never get away with this – not even for a week!”
She dropped his chin and her smile grew even more terrible. “Ah, yes!” she said bitterly. “The little woman! The obedient, self-sacrificing Mrs. Claus – human doormat! Do you think I don’t know she has gone to Florida to spend the entire month of January with her sister? Or did you forget she was gone yourself?”
She took another deep puff from her cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke directly into his face, sending him into a fit of coughing.
He realized that she was right and hope fled entirely. Mrs. Claus had taken the Polar Express south that very morning before he left on his annual delivery rounds. He had been so consumed with his last minute preparations that he had not come to the North Pole station to see her off. As he remembered that Mrs. Claus would be gone for the next 35 days, he sagged again with resignation.
“So you had forgotten that little detail, had you?” the sleek, rubber-clad Amazon said with a nasty laugh. “How perfectly like you. So tied up in your own affairs, your own compulsive, self-important sense of duty, that you didn’t even realize she wasn’t going to be waiting up there for you. Not too surprising, really. The word has gotten around, Santa dear. You generally treat her like a piece of the North Pole furniture anyway. It’s no wonder you forgot she was going to be gone.”
She removed the cigarette from her holder and crushed it out beneath one of her jet black high-heeled boots with an impatient stamp of her foot.
“You can just forget about being rescued, slut,” she said venomously. “You can forget all about your duties. I am going to give you some new duties to think about for the next few days – maybe even longer, if I choose. Instead of serving boys and girls all round the world, you can serve me as my own little latex maid. If you are a good little slut, I will give you your freedom. If not . . . well, in that case, you will get a lump of coal in your nylon stocking – and a night on my Iron Cross to ponder your disobedient, self-centered ways.”
Santa did not know what an Iron Cross was, but it sounded unpleasant. He shuddered, and the china white flesh of his mounded “breasts” jiggled provocatively with the action.
The Amazon strode to a table on a far wall and opened a large box that was sitting on it. “But first, it’s time to finish your transformation into my little slut handmaiden,” she said with an unpleasant chuckle. “Time to say goodbye to Santa Claus, slave. Time for you to become Lola, my latex slave!”
She pulled what looked like a bust of a woman’s head and shoulders from the box, except that this bust was painted in lifelike colors and had reddish blond hair that fell in cascades of loose curls down its back and shoulders. Reaching behind, she pulled down a hidden zipper and removed the “woman’s” face and hair from the piece of statuary. Then she approached Santa menacingly, holding the wriggling mass in front of her and grinning with malice at his growing dread.
As she closed on him, he could see that the “skin” in her hands was a rubber mask, made to fit the wearer precisely from crown to shoulders. She shook it loose in front of his face and, grunting slightly with the effort, stretched it carefully over his head, pulling in spots to seat the thick, cold rubber over his own elfin features. As she roughly sheathed his head in the rubber garment, he realized that his beard had been shaven off while he was u*********s, and was vaguely aware that his hair had been cropped closely, too. He attempted to protest, but his murmurs were ignored as she fitted the tight rubber hood into place and pulled down the zipper at its rear, completely sealing him inside.
She brandished a tiny padlock before him, allowing him to get a good look at it through the eyeholes of the mask, then attached it at the rear of the hood with an ominous metallic click.
“There!” she said with satisfaction as she fluffed the mask’s auburn tresses at the sides and back of Santa’s completely concealed head. “Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you now. Only I know where the key to that lock is. And believe me, no locksmith on Earth can break into it.”
She held a hand mirror in front of his rubber-shrouded face so that he could see what she had done. A blandly beautiful female stared back at him impassively, with daintily painted lips of pink, long curling lashes and just enough rouge to give her cheeks a permanently embarrassed blush at her helplessly humiliated situation. Santa’s light blue eyes were his only features that were actually visible through the mask, and they were so perfectly aligned with the eyeholes that they simply appeared to be part of a living woman’s face.
Oddly, as he stared at his image, Santa found his new appearance oddly exciting. His genitalia, trapped under a pair of tight thick black rubber panties, gave a throb of sexual arousal inside their latex cocoon. The reflection that stared back at him seemed incredibly sexy, with pale skin and large rounded bosoms. He opened his mouth in surprise and was astonished to see the female face in the mirror mimic his action perfectly. He licked the mask’s lips slowly, watching as the red tip of his tongue as it slid over the sensual dark pink rubber that covered his mouth. The image was somehow intoxicating!
The Amazon brandished a small black device with two silvery metal prongs in front of him before speaking again.
“This is a stun gun, slut,” she said with a wicked grin. “It can give a 45,000 volt shock — enough to knock a fully grown man to the ground and keep him there for several seconds. You are locked inside your corset. You are locked into your maid’s shoes and your slutty maid’s face. You cannot get out of this outfit, no matter how you try. There are no sharp-edged tools in this house that could be used for cutting, and all your rubber garments are much too thick to tear manually. I know that v******e is not your way, but in case to attempt to struggle or escape, I will give you a jolt with the stun gun, and you will wake up locked in chains.”
She slipped the weapon into a holster on a wide leather belt that hung low on her latex-clad hips, then unfastened the straps on his hands and legs.
“Get up, slut!” she hissed, beckoning with a latex covered finger. “I have many tasks for you to perform.”
Santa stood up unsteadily on the teetering heels of his shoes and struggled to control the shaking of his long bound limbs. He inclined his head to the Amazon as a gesture of total supplication, and followed her out of his dungeon cell. As he walked through the doorway, he caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror hanging on the wall. He could scarcely believe the reflection was his own.
The image in the glass was that of a tall, zaftig female, with massive swelling breasts, an impossibly slender waist and large hips. She teetered on a pair of ankle-strapped black patent leather shoes with six inch high heels. Her well-formed legs were smoothly covered with dark, seamed nylon stockings clipped to garters at the skirt of the heavy rubber corset that gave her delectable body its large but lovely shape. Her arms were gloved past her elbows, and her face was the very picture of innocence, framed by shoulder length strawberry blond curls.
With equal feelings of humiliation, dread and outright sexual excitement, Santa gave up hope of escaping. He was trapped inside his new persona: Lola, the Amazon’s latex slut. But surprisingly enough, deep inside he was elated. This was something new, incredibly arousing and amazingly wonderful – something different from anything that had ever happened to him before. In a way, he gloried at his helplessness, and looked forward to being ordered around by the frightening but sexually exciting dominatrix that had taken him captive.
He decided that he would give himself over completely to this powerful and cruel woman. He would do whatever she demanded.
And, secretly, he knew he would enjoy it!
(To Be Continued)
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