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Rubber panty stories

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She laughed and stroked me briefly through the rustling softness. I could barely feel her teasing hand on me now; assuming I would be standing up at some point, walking was going to be a little awkward.

I then recognized the soft and slick coolness of a pair of plastic pants being worked down my legs, and I raised my butt one more time.

I felt her tug at me, and a pinch at my waist, followed by the click of a small lock, and knew I was going to be in these diapers for a while.

I'll help you," and she did just that. She closed the back zipper, and fussed about my waist for a moment, then I felt her hands on my blindfold.

I saw myself in the mirror. My pink plastic maid's dress enclosed my body, sleeves and skirt puffing out from the sleek slick torso. The skirt could hardly help puffing out over the triple diaper and locking pants.

I felt silly, but I knew from plenty of experience that she liked seeing me like this. Both my fetish girly clothes and my blushing turned her on so much, and I found hope that maybe this punishment would end nicely, and soon.

I needed that hope, because already I wanted to fill my diaper with my bananas so badly: I didn't know how much longer I could hold out.

At least she was a lovely distraction, I had to admit. Her dress shone, high-necked long-sleeved short-skirted black latex. She spun slowly before me, and as the light played over her gorgeous rear, my hard-on tried desperately again to assert itself in its padded prison and I moaned once more.

Something bothered me, but I was far too busy with all the sensations assaulting me to thing about it much. Come now We entered the kitchen, and then I realized what I'd been wondering: how'd she get the dress polished so well?

The answer practically preceded the question, because seated at the table were two of her best friends from our kink group, one in a white vinyl catsuit and the other in a transparent latex dress.

Their outfits gleamed as they grinned at me. They'd seen me like this once or twice before, but that didn't stop the blush from intensifying, and it certainly did nothing to suppress my other natural physical reactions to all this shiny loveliness before me.

To this day, I have no idea what I served them. I probably assembled sandwiches from deli sliced meats, cheese, and bread, and filled their glasses with tea or lemonade, but the distractions or front and back pressure and glossy beauty are all I remember.

What subtle, devilish punishment! Sure, I was having fun, enormous fun, but I wanted to touch, to taste, to play, and I wanted not to have to think about keeping myself clenched tight!

Incredible torture! She dropped something, a fork or a napkin. I don't remember that, either. But I bent to pick it up, at the knees, not at the waist, just as I'd learned is done in a short skirt, and right then, nature's demands could no longer be resisted.

I had to grab the table edge with both hands to keep from falling over, and I grunted loudly as four bananas were finally set free. I didn't want to look at any of them, I must have been red as a fire truck just then.

Close your eyes. She moved around behind me, and put her hand on my bottom. She couldn't possibly have felt what I'd done through all the padding, but she pressed her hand against me, manipulating the mess in my triple-thick diaper, and I thanked my stars for that enema, and her blessed lack of interest in playing with real bodily waste.

Frankly, right then I wanted to melt into any convenient crack in the floor. Oh, no. Oh, oh no. Something thick, heavy, and slightly lumpy yet smooth slid down my backside, pooling slowly in my crotch and starting to fill the rear of my diapers.

I knew instinctively that it was a large bowl of chocolate brownie batter that had been mixed ahead of time in the unlikely event that she couldn't get me to lose control.

Yes, I knew what she'd been thinking, and I could make a guess or two what would be coming next. With a thick splat, the vanilla cream pie coated my face, blinding me and spattering on my pink dress.

I opened my mouth to breathe, and got a second pie in the face for my trouble: chocolate cream this time. For a moment, I wondered where the pretty lady in transparent latex had gotten to, but the answer came immediately as what must have been a bucket full of yellow cake batter cascaded down over my head.

Only slightly thinner than the brownie batter, the sweet slime covered and coated my hair, ran behind my ears and down the back of my neck, and added another color to the mess on my face before it glopped down the front of my shiny maid's dress, slipping down the little white plastic apron and spattering on the floor.

I guess it's up to us to clean up again! She untied my apron and unzipped my dress, stripping me of both while Miss Catsuit emptied two spray cans of whipped cream down the front of my diapers.

The spray cream melted immediately of course, but made things quite slippery and sticky in there, which my tortured dick didn't mind a single bit.

She set the cans aside, and grabbed me behind the knees, while my lady lifted me by the arms. I'm average-sized, but I watch my weight, and it's not too hard for two fit ladies to pick me up, which is just what they did.

Only a step or two away, the beauty in clear latex held open a contractor-sized black plastic garbage bag, and I understood just what 'cleaning up' meant.

They had little trouble getting me in there, and I quickly confirmed that there was a lot more 'trash' to throw away than any sane tea party would need.

I have trouble keeping track of who did what; someone clamped a pair of cream pies on either side of my head, forming a nice pie sandwich; what must have been an entire catering can of vanilla pudding was upended over me to join the batter and cream in my hair, ears, and eyes; and I'm pretty sure that no fewer than three large layer cakes got smashed in my face to fall in my lap, adding to the accumulating lair of goo in the trash bag with me.

Someone scooped up much of what had hit the floor during my first pie and batter messing, and flung it in there with me.

I'm still fond of breathing. I guess that's what happened: you're trash now, aren't you? I figured she'd like that.

Goodness knows I was still hard as a rock, and no one could tell by now if I was blushing or not. I hate even to waste a dirty girl like you were.

But you're not a dirty girl anymore; you're dirty trash now, just garbage. And garbage has to be thrown out. Something rumbled behind me, I couldn't twist around enough to see what.

The three ladies came back into my sight; they bent down, which was certainly a joy to watch, and grabbed the handles of a canvas sling I'd been sitting on without noticing.

Together, they counted to three and lifted me up - not easy with the weight of the goo in the bag with me now - and lowered the sling into the mouth of a large wheeled plastic trash bin which had been rolled up behind me.

Two of them let go, and my trash bag and I fell the last few inches, onto a soft layer of trash bags already in the bottom. I looked up. I couldn't quite see over the lip of the can: the top of my head came up only to the rim, already sheathed on all sides of me with the extra-large black plastic bin liner in the bottom of which the other bags and I nestled.

When they dropped me in, I'd rattled around a bit, but as they packed more bags in, I soon found myself held tight, able only to wiggle around a bit and make rustling noises in the plastic.

All the bags around me were thankfully soft, and I suspected pillows or foam in most of them, but it certainly didn't change how tightly pinned I was.

However, because their leg-elastics tend to dig in to moist thighs, I need to wear stockings for comfort. A three-inch deep, cotton, suspender belt is essential with at least six, and preferably eight suspenders for maximum comfort.

Note the hold-up stockings underneath the rubber waders. These are old stockings, worn because the inside seams of the waders are so rough on my legs.

Below: This pic was sent to me by a lover of rubber bathing caps. I knew one chap who used to love me holding my rubber bathing cap over his face while ——!

However the pink and the blue stretch-nylon knickers also in this photo, and in the photo above, both came from my shop stock this week, and no doubt we shall see them put to good, pleasurable use in a while.

I cannot hear you denying any of that because you are now intoxicated by the rich aromas of rubber knickers and rubber pants. Below: These nice rubber knickers were sprung on me without warning, and I have never worn any like them at all!

They came from a woman that KM knows, no, not me! He says that she is unlikely to get her rubber knickers returned!

He has been occupying himself with her knickers, and during his fun he has taken some photos for the site. Over time I will get a selected few on here for you all.

KM thinks that they are probably plastic knickers, or plastic pants if you prefer that title, but with a slightly rubbery feel, too.

They are quite noisy to walk in, and the cute little frills at their leg-elastics slide deliciously on his stockings.

Can you can imagine that? He plays with them regularly, and having seen him wearing a pair of them I can understand why and how he enjoys them! I actually heard him, or rather, his pants, before I saw him, and I only took him a cup of tea —————!

Oh well, he should not have left his bedroom door ajar. Anyway, he was almost immersed and smothered in plastic pants, and as he was at the point of no return I watched closely until his stiffness was relaxed.

After a shower he gave me a new pair of his plastic pants, but their elasticated legs are too tight to wear for long. Below: These two photos were taken especially for this page, and they show how much GRJ enjoys rubber knickers!

There are more to come when I have time to prepare and put them on here.

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