The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

THRILLATEX

by Downing Street

Part II

Rita spent Saturday morning taking care of a few household errands: cleaning the budgie cage, restocking groceries, buying a couple of vibrators. The last of these she put to use immediately. She had worn her black thrillatex knickers beneath black cotton leggings to go shopping. That may have been a mistake. The shapely young brunette in tight leggings and high heels (she had worn open-toed black slings instead of her usual flats) drew the eyes of every man she passed on the street. Rita had never been one to dress for attention. The relentless, inspiring sensuousness of her super-latex panties simply demanded heels, even on weekends. Her femininity was everything in thrillatex, and it must be declared.

Of course, the thrillatex was as stimulating as ever. Combined with the wide-eyed attention she drew on the street and in the shops, it guaranteed that Rita was soon stewing in her own juices. She could feel her lubrication, latex-sealed within her pussy, as she walked. She was pretty certain that passers-by could see the flush in her cheeks, the film of desire clouding her blue eyes, and the press of her erect nipples against her T-shit. If they could, these signs only served to add to her allure, and further guarantee that hungry male eyes followed her wherever she went.

By the time she tottered into her flat again, Rita was nearly panting. She tossed her bags and packages on the floor, quite alarming the budgies, tossed herself on the sofa, yanked down her leggings, threw off her shirt, and plunged one hand under her clinging black underthings and into the yearning wetness beneath. It was only ten minutes later, after a prolonged, eye-rolling orgasm that she was able to cool down long enough to put the groceries away. She was surprised to discover she had slipped off the sofa and onto the floor without even noticing.

As soon thereafter as possible, Rita retired to her bedroom for another, longer masturbatory session. She tried out each of her new vibrators, first through, then under, the slick layer of thrillatex around her hips. The material was so thin that both approaches produced nearly the same effect. She decided the red toy was better for exploring different angles and sensitive places, but the black one excelled on extra girth and the little knobby bits. Then she decided she had better try each of them again, to be sure.

Rita spent the next few hours wallowing in her own carnality. She rose from her bed only long enough to shed all her clothing and replace the black thrillatex knickers with yellow ones. She used her vibrators, or her fingers, or both in tandem, on her mouth, her tits, her pussy. Orgasm followed orgasm. For variety she grabbed the red panties and rubbed them across her stiff-nippled breasts, while her fingers plunged beneath the yellow pair below. Everywhere thrillatex touched became a new erogenous zone.

The lust-crazy babe would perhaps have wasted her entire afternoon there, cumming again and again until her brain turned to pablum, were it not for a knock on the door. For a long, foggy moment the sound didn’t quite register. Then a bleary realization came to her: “My shoes!” She had asked for accelerated delivery. Desperate that she not miss the delivery-man, she leapt off the bed, threw on a robe and the shoes beside the bed, then hurried over to the front door.

The man standing there was stout, but looked crisp in his pale green uniform. A big box lay at his feet. “Afternoon,” he said, “I have an express delivery for a Miss Rita . . . ahhh!” His sentence was consumed by a gasp of surprise.

After a moment Rita’s mushy brain figured out why. She was standing in front of him, clearly roused from bed, wearing nothing but an unfastened robe, a thin band of shiny yellow around her crotch, and her best black pumps with four inch heels. Her boobs were half-exposed. The erect nipples poked charmingly through the fabric of her robe. Paint-thin yellow thrillatex shamelessly outlined her sex, as if a divine light shone from her pussy.

The barely dressed babe found herself sliding into sex-kitten mode without even thinking about it. “Oh, yes of course, that will be for me,” she cooed, giving him her best doe eyes. “I ordered some nifty new shoes. I can’t wait to try them on.” She shifted one foot forward, showing off her shoe-capped leg.

“S-sign h-here,” the man stuttered. He handed her an electronic clipboard and a stylus. He was obviously fighting not to stare at her tits. Or her crotch. Rita let her robe fall open a little further as she took the clipboard, just to make it more challenging. She watched his eyes lose the fight.

Rita signed the form without much attention. Her libido was screaming at her: Invite him in! Jump him! Screw his brains out! It was only her eagerness to try all her new shoes that gave her the strength to hand back the clipboard with a grateful smile. “Thank you . . . Sir,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, smiling in return. He looked like he really meant that. After a second he shook himself. “Oh, there’s this one too.” He held up a large envelope he had been holding in his free hand.

Rita said, “But I didn’t order any " Then she noticed the writing on the package: bold, strong letters in swirling purple ink. “Ohmygod,” she breathed. She signed the form again, hastily this time, and accepted the package. “You have a great day now, honey,” she cooed at the delivery man.

“It can hardly get any better,” he blurted. He was still standing there, smiling foolishly, as Rita slowly closed the door.

She held the new package against her chest for a few seconds, as if it were a letter from an absent lover. Then she ripped it open. Inside were two long strips of thrillatex and another note. The note read: “These will make your next steps more exciting. D.S.” What was that supposed to mean?

Rita examined the strips of thrillatex. They were pale, almost flesh tone, with a shimmer of pink. She held them up, one in each hand, puzzled. Then it dawned on her. “Stockings!” she breathed.

Of course she had to put them on right away. She sat down in a battered easy chair, kicked off her shoes, and slowly drew the pink material up one leg. It felt smooth and soft against her skin. She pulled on the second one. She put her shoes back on.

“Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod,” she exclaimed looking down at herself. “These are beyond awesome!” For once that over-used word was applicable. The clingy thrillatex transformed her legs into flawless columns of curved woman-flesh, from the tip of her toes to the top of her thighs. The magic material at once smoothed over blemishes and flaws, while subtly shaping and outlining the lines of her legs. Topped off with high heels, the effect was indeed awe-inspiring.

The stockings didn’t slip. They showed no wrinkles when she bent her knee. And best of all, unlike pantyhose, the stockings left unrestricted access to her newly insatiable honeypot. She put this last feature to use immediately. The new garments proved equally effective as the knickers at inducing instant, overwhelming horniness. It was three orgasms later before Rita even managed to get out of the chair. She almost forgot about her new shoes.

On Monday, Rita nearly lost her job. It had to do with the way she was dressed. Of course, delightful as they were, it was inconceivable that she would wear a pair of latex stockings to work at a stuffy near-bank. She told herself that quite sternly, even as she sat on her bed and slid the pink-tinged garments up her legs. Apparently her hands weren’t listening. She wore the red knickers, and a tight, black clubbing skirt. She had only worn the skirt once, to a party. Her blouse was floral silk, thin enough to hint at the pretty half-cup bra beneath it.

Rita was entirely conscious that she could never get away with dressing like this for work. Slipping on her thrillatex panties got her all sexed up, so maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly when she decided to try on the stockings again, to see how they felt. They felt fabulous, of course so fabulous that Rita had to calm herself with her big black vibrator for a while before she could finish getting dressed. By that time she was feeling so yummy all over she couldn’t bear to take the stockings off, or even consider wearing anything that would cover them up. Hence the decision, if she could call it that, to wear a bum-riding micro-skirt to work.

Stares and dropped jaws greeted her when Rita finally floated into the office. She was quite late. She had spent a long time getting her hair and make-up just right. The thrillatex demanded it. She was all about sex and desire now; the image required that she always look her feminine best.

“Rita, what are you doing!” Tina demanded. “Are you looking to get sacked?”

“You don’t like it?” Rita said. She was wearing a pair of two-tone platform pumps with super-tall heels. They were part of the Saturday delivery. Her legs were a work of erotic art.

“No, it’s not that. You look amazing! I mean Wow! But Mr. Burnside will have a coronary if he sees you dressed like that.”

Rita giggled. “He’s not the only one.” She indicated a young male clerk standing near by, devouring the miniskirted beauty with his eyes, the folder in his hands forgotten.

“Clarence, go away,” Tina said. The man moved away reluctantly, casting long back-glances at Rita’s latex-coated legs. Was there a lump in his trousers? Another admirer replaced him almost immediately.

Tina turned back to her oversexed co-worker. “Look, the only way you’re going to keep your job is if we keep you out of sight for as long as possible. Do you at least have a longer skirt you can change into?”

Rita shook her head. “I don’t want to change,” she declared. “I look good like this. Don’t my legs look hot?”

Tina looked down at glistening pink thrillatex “Yes, they do, but that’s not the, the wow, you really do look—fabulous. You’re so . . . .” For a second she appeared to lose her train of thought. “No, wait that’s not the point. Look, I’ll cover for you. Sit down at your desk, keep your chair in close and if Burnside asks for something, let me get it for him.”

Rita did as she was told. Her skirt slid up over the top of her stockings. “Tina this is sweet of you, but I don’t want you to do my job for me!”

“Oh, I, I don’t mind. You would do the same for me. And you look so damned sexy, you deserve . . . . Anyway, we’ll try this.” She moved away, perhaps to hide the flush in her cheeks.

Hiding from Mr. Burnside worked for a while. When he came out of his office to demand something for a client, Rita would pretend to be deeply involved in a spreadsheet on her computer. “I’ll get it,” Tina would say. Then she would trot off to retrieve the file or whatever before Burnside grew impatient. Well, maybe not trotting. The narrow, wedge-heeled platform sandals on her feet rather slowed her down. They were brown suede, matching her skirt. Her delivery had arrived on Saturday too.

Rita should have stayed demurely at her desk. The trouble was she didn’t want to. She wanted to be up and around, teasing, showing off, flirting with the men, tormenting the women. She wanted to see if she could make Kirk spill his coffee by bending over at just the right moment and flashing a bit of red-shellacked ass (She could!). She wanted to play the giggly flirt with Clarence in the coffee room, so she could enjoy his red-faced embarrassment when he tried to cover the growing lump in his trousers (Success again!). Especially, she wanted to prance about in her club-hopping skirt and audacious heels to draw scowls of disapproval and resentment from the other women in her work-place. It seemed important, somehow, to celebrate that her sex drive was open and running, while they had to keep theirs suppressed.

Sandra, the oldest and most proper of the generally young troupe of cubicle-dwellers, provided the most satisfying reaction. “Rita, really!” was all she said, “This is completely out of line.” Yet there was something more complex on her face than just shock and indignation. Rita thought she read traces of envy there, perhaps even uncertainty. Her eyes lingered on Rita’s thrillatex stockings a second too long.

With all this fun to be had being a latex lovedoll, Rita wasn’t doing an awful lot of work. Her co-workers were less productive as well. Of course, when the wetness in her pussy became too much to bear, she had to spend some quality time in the ladies’ with her fingers or the little red vibrator she had brought to work in her purse.

Tina was awfully good about covering for her. Later, her other friends were too. About mid-afternoon, Rita stepped out from her third round of hand play in the ladies’ just as Burnside came out of his office. There was no place to hide. Before her astonished boss fully realized what he was seeing, Kirk bounded over from his cubicle, random bundles of papers in one hand. “Rita, I need you to take a look at these, the client is on the phone!” he said. He stood close in front of her, blocking Burnside’s view.

“Oh, Mr. Burnside, I need your approval of these, right away!” a young woman exclaimed. Her name was Morgana. She pushed up to him and shoved a bunch of papers, and her impressive rack, in his face. While Morgana distracted her startled boss, Rita and Kirk shuffled sideways until Rita’s lower half was hidden by a divider. Burnside glanced toward Rita, looking puzzled, apparently not believing what he thought he had seen.

“I’m sorry I made you spill your coffee,” Rita whispered to Kirk, while they watched Morgana distract the boss. She was standing very close to him. She flexed her hips.

“No, it was all my fault. Completely my fault. Besides it was rude of me not to bring a cup for you. Would you, would you like a cup of tea?” He seemed terribly eager to help her.

“That would be sweet. Thank you.” She adjusted her skirt with one hand, accidentally brushing his hard-on as she went by. Later, when he brought her the tea, she crossed her knees and made him spill that too.

All in all it was the best day at work she’d had for a long time. When she left for the day (she nipped out early to do a little shopping), everyone smiled and said good night. Even Sandra seemed to have lost some of her sternness. Tina was just returning from the toilet, looking a little flushed.

When Rita got home, there was another package waiting for her.