The BDSM Fantasy of the Latex Suit

The sound of her heels striking the wooden floor set the rhythm of my breathing long before I saw her come in. Each sharp impact squeezed my cock tighter inside the suit, as if my body knew before I did that, this time, the fantasy was going to be fulfilled completely. When she appeared in the doorway, tall, erect, and wrapped from feet to neck in that black sheen, I stood motionless for a second, simply looking at her.

It wasn’t a surprise. I had spent weeks preparing for that moment, measuring, searching, comparing bodies, ruling out women until I found one who could fill that suit the way I had imagined. Even so, seeing her standing before me was different from thinking about it alone while I masturbated. It was better. Much better.

The mask covered almost all of my face, and even so I smiled. She wore hers too: a black latex bodysuit with precise openings for her eyes, mouth, breasts, and pussy. Nothing was left over. Nothing was missing. The material clung to her body like a second skin, darker, colder, more obscene.

“Turn around,” I told her.

My voice came out raspier than I expected. She understood Spanish well enough, but that order needed no explanation. She turned slowly, showing me the curve of her back, her ass tightened by the latex, her impossibly long legs ending in black boots with slender heels that brought her almost to my height.

I was dressed the same way, in my own gleaming suit, my cock sticking out through the opening I had had made to measure. I had worn it before, with other women, but there was always something incomplete. The other piece was missing. The perfect reflection of my obsession was missing. That night, at last, it stood before me.

I approached without hurrying. I wanted to examine every detail, to register the way the latex stretched over her ribs when she breathed, the way her nipples stiffened in the air from the contrast between bare skin and cold material. Her lips, painted dark red, were the only warm thing amid so much black.

I silently circled her body, observing her as if I were inspecting a finished work of art. When I reached her back, I saw that the zipper had not been pulled all the way up. It left a small strip of skin at the nape of her neck, a minimal band, too human for what I wanted.

I slipped two fingers into the zipper tab and pulled it all the way up.

She shivered and arched her back slightly. That gesture aroused me more than any words could have. There was no fear in her body. There was anticipation. There was the attentiveness of someone who knows she is going to be used for someone else’s fantasy and is willing to let herself go as long as the price makes it worthwhile.

“Tonight you do exactly what I tell you,” I murmured in front of her mouth. “If you don’t like something, you say so. Otherwise, you obey.”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

Her accent dragged the word out in a dry, beautiful way. I raised my gloved hand and ran it over her cheek, not over the skin but along the edge of the latex. Then I tilted my head and stuck out my tongue. She thought I was going to kiss her mouth, but I turned at the last instant and slowly licked the black surface covering her cheekbone.

The taste of latex filled my mouth with something between plastic, faint sweat, and anticipation. I repeated the gesture over her temple, her forehead, the curve of her covered skull. She imitated me. When I finished licking the left side of her face, she came toward me and ran her tongue over the same side of my mask, with an almost devotional concentration.

That was the game for several minutes. I marked an area. She repeated it on me. Face, neck, shoulders. I made the rhythm, the rule, the liturgy of that scene clear to her—nothing about it was improvised. It wasn’t romance. It wasn’t tenderness. It was control. It was an old fetish finally breathing outside my head.

When I lowered myself to her neck, she tipped her head back to give me room. My tongue slid along the join between material and skin, tasting the salt that was beginning to appear. My hands rested on her waist, feeling the heat trapped beneath the garment. The latex was no longer cold. It was warming with her body and mine.

I reached her breasts and stopped. The opening displayed them completely, pale, firm, medium-sized, with pink areolas and hard nipples. The sight made me clench my jaw. I had spent a long time thinking about that exact image. Seeing them within reach of my mouth sent a lash of sensation through my cock.

I didn’t lunge at her. First I ran the tip of my tongue along the edge of the opening, tracing the boundary where the black of the suit ended and her flesh began. Then I circled one entire breast without touching the nipple. She breathed more deeply. I repeated it on the other. Only when I felt that she was already craving direct contact did I close my mouth over a nipple and suck.

She moaned, this time without holding back.

I supported her beneath the breast with one hand while I worked the nipple with my tongue and then my teeth, tugging just enough to make her gasp. I moved to the other and repeated the torture, slowly, attentive to every reaction. She tried to touch me, but I grabbed her wrists and lowered them.

“Stay still.”

She obeyed. The word left her wetter than I expected.

I knelt in front of her. From below, the boots looked obscene. The slender heel, the elongated toe, the black sheen rising over her ankles and calves until it merged with the suit. I ran both hands over her calves, feeling the muscles tense to maintain her balance.

I kissed the toe of one boot. Then the sole’s welt. Then the impossible curve of the heel. I did it slowly, as though worshiping a sacred object. That fetish had always been connected to the rest: the covered body, the shine, the dehumanized figure, the sensation of standing before something made solely to arouse me.

She rested one hand on my shoulder so she wouldn’t fall while I licked the sole and heel, then moved higher along the inside of her calf. My tongue slid more easily now; the material already had a fine film of heat and sweat. I reached her knee, continued toward her thigh, and when I opened her legs wider I finally found her pussy exposed amid that perfect blackness.

It was pink, hairless, already wet. Very wet.

I looked at her from below before touching her.

“This is how I wanted to see you.”

She bit her lip.

I ran the pad of my gloved finger over her lips, barely brushing them. I didn’t go inside. I only spread the moisture, moving up to her clitoris and back down. She trembled. I parted her legs a little farther and then I did put my tongue inside her, moving from bottom to top, long and firm, opening her pussy with the tip.

Her moan fell over me like a reward.

I began eating her slowly, alternating broad licks with more precise strokes against her clitoris. My hands clung to her latex-covered thighs, and the contrast drove me crazy: tongue on living flesh, fingers on a gleaming surface. Her breathing grew more ragged. I felt her trying to move her hips, but I squeezed her legs to keep her where I wanted her.

“Don’t come yet.”

“Fuck…” she let out in clumsy but perfectly clear Spanish.

I inserted one finger. Then two. They went in easily because she was so soaked. I moved them slowly at first, opening her, feeling her walls tighten around the leather of the glove. Meanwhile, my tongue never stopped working her clitoris. She tilted her pelvis toward me and I had to hold her more tightly.

“Stay still, I said.”

This time she moaned and obeyed only halfway, trembling all over.

The arousal was hitting me with the same violence. My cock jutted out hard and thick, throbbing against the suit’s opening, already wet from rubbing against the latex and from seeing that exact scene made real. I needed to feel her mouth, but I didn’t want to leave her pussy yet. So I made her wait a little longer, fucking her with my fingers while I sucked her clitoris until I heard her say something in her own language between gasps.

When I felt she was on the verge, I pulled my mouth away abruptly. She protested with a muffled moan.

“On all fours,” I ordered.

She did it without arguing. She lowered herself to the floor with elegant awkwardness because of the heels and positioned herself in front of me. The shine of the suit beneath the room’s light was madness. She looked like a figure from a sick, exact fantasy. I lay down too and pulled her by the waist until our faces were opposite each other, our black bodies rubbing together like two strange animals.

Only then did we devote ourselves to the exposed flesh.

She gripped my cock with one hand and looked at it for barely a second before putting it in her mouth. She did it expertly, without hurrying, first tasting the tip with her tongue and then taking more, deeper and deeper, while she jerked the shaft with her hand. I opened her pussy with my fingers again and buried myself between her legs once more, alternating licks and sucks.

The sound became wet, filthy, animal. Her mouth swallowing my cock. My tongue splashing in her pussy. The rub of latex whenever we tried to press closer together. She sucked better than I expected: deep, persistent, aware of the exact point where I tensed. I ate her pussy with the same dedication, pushing my tongue as far inside her as I could and pulling it out to strike her clitoris.

I put three fingers inside her and curled them. Her reaction was instant. She gagged on me for a second and then moaned with her mouth still around my cock.

“That’s it,” I told her, feeling saliva run down my shaft. “Keep going, keep going.”

The little bitch obeyed and swallowed me deeper, letting me feel the limit of her throat. I had to pull her head away because I nearly came right there. She looked up, her mouth glistening, breathing quickly.

“No. Not yet.”

I made her sit up. I pushed her toward the dining table and bent her over one of the chairs. The latex on her back creaked beneath my hands. I parted her legs with one knee and paused to look at her ass, the cleft suggested by the suit, her open, wet pussy waiting for me beneath it.

I ran my palm over her buttocks, squeezing them hard. This wasn’t a pain session, but I wanted her to feel possession. I gave one cheek a sharp smack. Then another. The sound was clean. She let out a husky moan and pushed her ass backward, asking me for more without words.

“You like obeying when you’re used properly, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

I put two fingers inside her again, deep, and with my other hand grabbed one breast from in front, pulling the nipple until she gasped. My cock brushed her thighs, hard enough to hurt. I didn’t want to draw it out any longer. I had waited too long for that image, for that union between our two suits, for the exact moment when my body would merge with hers in that gleaming obscenity.

I positioned myself behind her and guided the tip to her entrance. She was so wet that the first push was easy. I entered slowly, enjoying every inch as she swallowed me. The edge of the latex around her pussy brushed my base and nearly made me lose control. When I was fully inside, I gripped her hips and stayed still for a moment, breathing against her back.

“Fuck,” I murmured. “Like that. Exactly like that.”

She moved her ass backward, forcing me to react. I withdrew almost completely and thrust back in harder. The smack of contact, mixed with the sound of wrinkling latex, sent my arousal skyrocketing. I began with a firm, measured rhythm, but every thrust loosened me more.

I fucked her and my hands wouldn’t stay still. They traveled over her belly, kneaded her breasts, climbed the suit clinging to her ribs, closed around her throat without really squeezing, merely marking control. She moaned with her face almost pressed against the chair’s seat, moving to the rhythm I imposed on her.

I slipped my hand between her legs and searched for her clitoris while continuing to penetrate her. The moment I touched it, her pussy contracted around my cock.

“Are you going to come?”

“Yes… yes…”

“Not until I let you.”

I increased the pace a little. The thrusts became shorter and more brutal. The table shook. The chair squeaked. Her body moving back and forth looked like a rubber figure on the verge of breaking, and that turned me on even more. I spread her buttocks with one hand so I could better watch my cock slide in and out, wet and shining under the light before sinking into her pussy again.

She wasn’t pretending anymore. It showed in her trembling legs, her broken breathing, the way she tried to push her ass backward to swallow each thrust deeper. The cold professional had disappeared. What remained was a horny woman swept up in someone else’s fantasy, one that had dragged her along too.

I pulled out abruptly and made her turn around. I sat her on the table, sweeping aside whatever was on it with my arm. Her boots struck the wood. I opened her legs wider and entered her again, this time facing her. Her back arched instantly. The angle was deeper, and she felt it almost violently.

“Fuck me,” she said, clear this time, without an accent that mattered.

That was enough to break me completely.

I grabbed the backs of her knees and began driving into her harder and faster, watching her breasts bounce with every blow. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her heels brushing my ass, and pulled at my mask to draw me to her mouth. We kissed messily, with saliva and gasps, knocking teeth at times while I kept fucking her.

I put two fingers in her mouth and she sucked them while I fucked her harder and harder. Then I lowered that same hand and put them on her clitoris, rubbing in fast circles. Her reaction was immediate. She tensed all over, dug her nails through the suit, and moaned so loudly that I could no longer keep her on the edge.

“Now. Come now.”

She came with a brutal spasm, squeezing my cock so tightly that I had to close my eyes. Her pussy throbbed, wet and hot, convulsing around me. I kept rubbing her clitoris as she shook on the table, and the sight of that gleaming black body losing control pushed me over the edge.

I couldn’t hold back any longer.

I pulled out once, thrust back in to the hilt, and came with a first burst inside her pussy. The pleasure was so intense that I growled. I withdrew halfway and kept pumping while semen shot out in spurts, staining her suit high on the thighs and running over the edge of the opening. I jerked off over her, milking myself until the last drop. My thick, white cum lay obscenely across the black shine of the latex.

She breathed with her mouth open, still trembling. So was I. For several seconds I simply looked at the contrast: semen slowly sliding over her skin and garment, running in threads down her thigh, nearing the edge of her boot. It was a disgusting and perfect image. Exactly the kind of image that had haunted me for years.

I ran my fingers through one of those white threads and smeared it across the suit covering my own abdomen. Then I leaned over and licked her belly, following the trail of my cum downward. She let out a tired moan when she felt my tongue. I gathered the semen from the edge of her pussy, tasted it, and moved up her body again, licking latex, skin, and the mixture of sweat and cum.

When I reached her neck, I gently turned her face away. Her cheeks were red, her lipstick smeared, her blue eyes cloudier than they had been at the beginning. I gave her one last lick along the side of her face, as I had done at the start, closing the circle of my game.

“You can move now,” I told her.

She let herself fall backward onto the table and gave a short, exhausted laugh. I was still half-hard, still aroused by what I had just seen and done, but I didn’t need anything else. The garment had been christened. The fantasy had been fulfilled. And what I had imagined so many times had not fallen short.

It had been dirtier, rawer, more exact.

She slowly sat up and looked at the mess of semen on her suit.

“You really like this,” she said.

I looked her up and down one more time. The gleaming black, the white stains, her swollen mouth, the tremor still visible in her legs. I came closer, put a hand on her hip, and nodded.

“You have no idea.”