The Tube Ordeal

The second outfit has arrived, the package is on my bed. I've showered, shaved and oiled as the instructions said and now have no excuse not to open it and discover my fate for this afternoon.

Opening the box brings an interestingly pungent smell to my nostrils, peeling away the layers of tissue reveals black shiny material, I sigh gently and pull the various items from the box and lay them on the bed.

Naked now I take a small tin of talc and lightly powder my legs, from toes all the way up to the top of my thighs. This is necessary as the first item I have to put on is a pair of black latex stockings. I roll them and slip the first one over my toes, easing my foot into it and sliding the rubber over my heel. Gradually smoothing the latex over my foot I ease them a little higher, careful to avoid wrinkles and twists. Over the knee and up the thigh, the latex gripping me tightly as I stretch it almost to my crotch.

The top has a thin studded strap attached, this I fasten around my thigh, threading it through the small silver buckle and drawing it tight around my leg. In the absence of suspenders this will keep the stocking from sliding down. The second latex stocking follows the first, sliding on to my other leg, both now encased in ultra-thin skin tight glossy black rubber.

A ridiculously small black latex thong follows, barely cupping my naked pubis and cutting high up between my buttocks. A sheer gauzy blouse in a semi-transparent grey material goes on my top (no bra this time?). Buttoned up to a high mandarin neck but with quite puffy sleeves buttoned at the wrist, it looks expensive and trashy at the same time. The skirt is short, very short. It's made from very shiny black PVC with a zip up the back. It slides up the latex stockings with a sibilant sound and once fastened squeaks against the rubber every time I move my legs. At least the stockings are long enough that I don't reveal the tops (but it's a close thing).

The shoes are next, black patent strappy sandals with 5" stiletto heels. I slip my latex clad foot into the toe of the first one and fasten the three thin straps around my leg just above the ankle. The other follows and I stand relatively confidently, feeling about ten feet tall but not sure just how easily I will walk in them. I practise a little, sashaying up and down my bedroom, getting the feel of the shoes and rolling my hips to compensate for the heels, skirt squeaking all the time.

I clip the onyx teardrop earrings on my lobes as specified, the silver settings contrasting with the black stones. A matching pendant dangles from a silver chain around my neck. My makeup includes the glossy dark red lipstick you bought me and your favourite silver-grey metallic eyeshadow.

Lastly the gloves. Little glossy black latex gloves that come just to my wrists where they buckle with little studded straps that match those on the stockings. I wriggle my fingers right to the ends and ease the rest of my hand in, making sure that the rubber is tight against my skin. An aerosol of silicone spray is included in the package and a generous application makes the gloves and the stockings shine in the light from my bedside lamps.

Re-reading the note I phone for a taxi and fetch my black plastic Mac from the wardrobe. I slip this on, grab my clutch bag and I'm waiting on the steps as the Taxi pulls up. "Oxford Circus" I tell the driver as I settle into the back of the cab, trying hard not to squeak too much.

I pay the driver and carefully get out. I can see you waiting by the entrance to the underground, leaning on the railings. I walk up beside you, conscious of your eyes on me. "You look good Chrissie, if a little apprehensive". I swallow and give you a smile, wondering what's next for me. "Here, take this into the public toilets there, I'll see you on the Southbound Bakerloo platform when you're ready". You walk off, leaving me with a small, elegantly wrapped parcel. I quickly walk to the toilets and negotiate the steps down. Locking myself in a cubicle I strip the paper off the box and open it. Inside nestle two chrome silver balls a little smaller than golf balls, a short cord joining them. A note says simply "In your pussy, don't tell me it's not wet". I open the Mac and sit on the seat, opening my legs and pulling the silly little thong to one side. Two fingers verify that I am anything but dry. The balls are cold when I pick them up, colder still as I press the first one against my bald pussy. I use the fingers of my other hand to spread myself and a firm push and my own lubrication does the rest, the cold ball feeling huge as it slips inside me. The second follows the first and I feel an extremely strange sensation as they click together inside me. I rearrange the thong to cover myself, stand up and smooth down the skirt. Belting the Mac again I flush the toilet and leave the cubicle. As I climb the steps and then descend into the tube station I can feel the balls inside me. Evidently they have smaller balls inside that roll around as I walk, giving me little tremors inside my pussy at every step.

I purchase my day travel card and go down the escalator, eventually finding my way to the Bakerloo platform. Not too many people at the moment as it's about 3.30, but it will start to pick up soon. I see you at the very end of the platform, standing alone and gazing into the depths of the black tunnel from which the train will come.

"Ah good girl, are they in?" a nod from me brings a smile. "And they are comfortable?". A second nod and a broader smile "good, now face me and open the Mac". I face away from the fairly empty platform and unbelt the Mac, holding it open so you can see me properly. "Very nice Chrissie, you make an excellent latex tart. I have just one more enhancement, stay like that". So saying you unbutton my blouse, pulling it open until my breasts are on display, my nipples semi hard. You note this and dip your head, giving each a quick suck and bringing a sharp gasp from me. "I need these hard" you say, pinching each firmly and making me squirm as I stand there holding the Mac open. "Good, that's better".

You reach into your pocket and bring out what at first I think are another pair of earrings to match those I already wear. Then as you open the clip on one and slip it over my nipple I see what they are, matching nipple jewellery! As the clamp closes on my hard nipple I groan. The pain is quite sharp at first, then tails off to a dull ache. Another pinch on my other nipple and the second clamp is attached, bringing another small groan. "Excellent", you say as you look down at my nipples, squeezed into a silly, flat shape by the clamps. They are sticking out straight, unable to shrink or droop. Buttoning my blouse you admire my suffering nipples. They can be clearly seen as hard lumps under the thin material, the pendant jewellery moving under the blouse as I breathe.

"Now, here comes the train Chrissie, your task is merely to travel to ten different stations on the tube. You must disembark at each one before travelling to the next, and you must not sit on the train, you may only travel standing. When you have finished I'll see you at my place and we'll see just how wet you are after travelling London dressed as a cheap fetish whore. Now give me your Mac" I slowly slip the Mac off and pass it to him, realising just what I must look like. Stood here in my rubber stockings, PVC skirt and as-good-as see through blouse with my poor clamped nipples sticking out like mini-beacons.

As the train pulls in and I turn to board it, you pass me one more thing. "It's a throwaway camera Chrissie. At each station I want you to ask some helpful gentleman passer-by to take your picture by the station sign, for proof. I'm sure you'll find willing volunteers and if they happen to request a particular pose, you WILL comply! Now go, and don't return until you have pictures from ten different stations".

I step carefully onto the train, my legs trembling and my tummy fluttering from the vibrations coming from the chrome balls in my pussy. I see the eyes of the commuters turn to me and stare, some look away, but others don't. I can only pray that I don't get too many hands up my skirt as the crowd continues to push in behind me. A forlorn hope, I think, as the city gent next to me carefully looks the other way as his brolly handle rubs firmly against my plastic coated buttocks . . .