The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

THRILLATEX

by Downing Street

Part III

The fourth package was bigger than the others. It was sitting on the step outside her front door, a courier tag attached to it. The delivery address was written in flowing purple script.

Rita felt butterflies in her stomach. She was already steamed up from the attention she garnered on the way home. The band of thrillatex sliding across her nether lips was as distracting as ever. It was probably as well that she had missed the courier; she was certain that this time she would have seduced him right there on the stoop.

She opened the door to her flat and stepped inside. She set the package on the sofa along with the results of her shopping. She opened the budgie cage so Lucy and Ricky could fly around for a while. They were too wild and beautiful to keep trapped in a cage. Then she went to her bedroom, stripped off all her clothes except the pink stockings, replaced her red knickers with the black ones, and stepped into a different pair of shoes. These were open-toed slides with a mesh top and thick red soles. High heels, of course.

She shuffled into the livingroom, luxuriously semi-dressed, idly kneading one abundant breast with her left hand. She wanted desperately to go play with herself for about an hour. She had to know what was in that package first.

She sat down on the sofa. She picked up the package. Lucy and Ricky perched nearby, as if they too were curious. Rita pulled open the tab.

There was more than one item inside. The first was a very brief dress in neon pink thrillatex. It was long-sleeved and collarless. A red zipper ran all the way up the front.

“Oh, sweet!” the semi-clad beauty breathed. She ran the little scrap of super-plastic through her hands. It weighed almost nothing. She ran the fabric across her breasts and felt them tingle.

A few days ago, Rita would never have considered even wearing such a garment. Now she couldn’t wait to put it on. Standing, she slipped her arms through the sleeves, then carefully slid up the zipper.

The result was sensational. Like everything made of thrillatex, the dress showed off every curve and swell of her youthful figure, while smoothing over her skin in a micrometre layer of liquid-paint pink. The material clung to the undersides of her breasts, expressing their exact outline even to the distension of her nipples. Yet somehow the material supported their weight so effectively that no brassiere would be necessary. It worked the same magic on the cheeks of her ass. It covered her legs hardly at all. The stockings took care of that.

Rita looked down at herself, arms spread, mouth open in amazement. “What do you think, guys?” she said to the birds, “Do I look effing awesome or what?”

She ran both hands down her flanks, arriving soon at the hem. Rita had never worn anything this short in her life. Even the clubbing skirt she had worn that day wasn’t this short. If she bent over even a little she would flash her ass: her shapely, twin-sphered ass, provocatively outlined by red thrillatex underthings like a candy apple. Rita groaned aloud at the thought. She really, really needed to go play with herself for a while a very long while.

There was something else in the box. Rita sat down again. She reached into the box and withdrew a pair of boots. She turned them over in her hands. They were unlike any boots she had ever worn. The shanks were the same vivid pink as her dress, made out of slightly thicker thrillatex. The sole and heel were red like the zipper. The boots had very thick, narrow platforms at the toe, and impossibly high, spike heels at the back. In between, the arch of the soles soared upward like a cathedral.

“Ohmygod I don’t even think I can wear these,” Rita said to the budgies. Yet she was already slipping the left one over her foot. She flexed her ankle upward to accommodate the extreme heels. “This is just to see,” she told herself. “I’m pretty sure I can’t walk in these.”

The boot fit well. Rita slid up the zipper along one side. The boot ended a few inches below the knee, but the transition from boot to thrillatex stocking was nearly seamless. Rita put the other boot on. She stretched out her legs and turned her feet back and forth, admiring.

The boots were the perfect compliment to the dress and stockings, in both colour and style. They held her feet in a soft, comfortable grip while elevating her stride onto the ball of her foot. With the platforms, Rita estimated her heels would be about seven inches from the floor.

At length she decided to try standing up. It was an adventure. She wobbled a little until she caught her balance. She felt taller, as if she were standing on tip-toe a couple of inches above the ground. Which was more or less what she was doing. She looked down at herself. From bust to boots the thrillatex wrapped her in a gleaming pink lacquer, magnifying her curves into a perfect, sex-candy confection.

It was all too much. With a cry of “Oh fuck fuck fuck!", the latexed lovely collapsed onto the sofa, spread her legs, and began to stroke her aching sex through the super-thin red panties. Her free hand pulled down the zipper on her micro-dress to adore the stiff-nippled breasts beneath. “Soooooo horny!” she cried.

She came almost at once, so great was her arousal. The orgasm was delicious, prolonged, and left her panting. It took a little longer to peak the second time, and the third, but the climaxes were every bit as intense.

Somewhere in there she managed to calm down long enough to look for a message in the box. She found it at the bottom, written in purple script like the others. It said, “I think you’re ready now. D.S.".

“Ready? Ready for what?” Rita wondered. Did this mean D.S. would reveal himself soon? Even as she was thinking about it, she found herself fondling one tit again. She decided the mystery could wait for later.

Rita spent the evening alternately admiring herself, pleasuring herself, and learning to walk in the new boots. Sometimes she did two of these at once. Her pussy was as greedy as a spoiled child.

Rita was constantly amazed at how a few ounces of thrillatex transformed her from modestly attractive to stunning. The difference was more than the way the material smoothed and sculpted her curves. The irresistible eroticism of the material kept sex front and foremost in her mind. Every move she made in this outfit, every pose and gesture, was primally female. Lesser matters, like her native modesty, social norms, or even comfort and practicality, were simply not allowed to intrude.

She ordered pizza when she got hungry. Sprawled in the easy chair with one leg thrown over the armrest, she panted the order into her mobile while she slowly plunged her pussy with the larger vibrator. She could hear her own heat in her voice as she spoke. So could the fellow at the other end. Knowing that she was arousing him just by speaking warmed her up even more.

Of course she didn’t pay for the pizza. During the interval between order and delivery, she managed to pull her hand out of her panties long enough to freshen up, comb her hair, and apply a fresh coat of lipstick. When she answered the door, the college kid delivering pizza was so astonished by a classic fantasy come to life he could barely speak. “Please,” Rita cooed, “come on in.”

He came in. He set the pizza on the coffee table. He did try to mention the charge. The pink-clad vision in the towering heels was suddenly right in front of him, very close. “I’m a trifle short this evening; you understand, don’t you, handsome?", Rita said. Her fingers were already feathering over his zipper. He was already rising. Rita unzipped him so he could stiffen more freely.

The man enjoyed the ensuing hand job so much he gave her the pizza for free even before he ejaculated. As an added reward for being such a sweet boy, Rita let him come on her stockings. It would all wash off later.

The pizza was very good.

The following morning, getting dressed, Rita briefly fantasized about wearing the latex dress and boots to work. Now that would make an entrance! But of course the very idea was beyond the pale. Enough was enough. There was no way she was wearing that shocking pink outfit outside the house, much less to the office. She had flirted with unemployment closely enough the day before.

Perhaps, if she had been wearing ordinary cotton underwear, this common-sense conclusion would have prevailed. Instead, she had stepped into her black thrillatex knickers without even thinking about it. She was already feeling the rush and tingle of thrillatex slipping across her sex. The material was already working its impish magic on her body and mind. Cold logic was being displaced by the giddy impulsiveness that made drunk people do wild things at parties.

Standing in her bedroom, wearing nothing but panties and high heels, the young bank clerk considered the pink microdress. It was lying across a bureau where she had thrown it the night before. She ran the slippery material through her fingers. She thought about what she would look like, wearing it. She remembered what it felt like, wearing it. A sly smile built on her face.

Rita’s entrance to Burnside Trust that morning was everything she hoped it would be. Conversations stopped. Jaws hung open. She stood in the open doorway, posing on her giant platform heels like a statue of a goddess on a pedestal. The super-short thrillatex dress, clinging faithfully to every curve and line of her figure, was more erotically revealing than full nudity. “Good morning everybody,” Rita sang. She was at least an hour late.

Predictably, it was Sandra who reacted first. “Rita, what are you doing!” she exclaimed. “This is a trust company, not a sex-club. You can’t come in here dressed like that!”

Rita only smiled. She was riding too high on her own sensuality to care very much about anybody’s approval. “Sandra honey, you worry too much,” she said. She ran a hand lovingly down the side of the other woman’s face. She made sure the sleeve of her dress rubbed against Sandra’s skin. “You would be so much happier if you relaxed and enjoyed yourself.”

The older woman seemed to almost shudder under Rita’s touch. “But but this is a b-bank,” she said, more softly. “I can see your breasts! This is completely inapp ”

Rita took Sandra’s hand in both of hers. She kissed her fingertips. “Inappropriate? How can it be inappropriate to look this good? Face it, baby, I look hot.” She guided Sandra’s hand to the flank of her pink thrillatex dress, then ran it up and down. Sandra gulped. She struggled to say something.

She was saved from that effort by a male voice behind her: “What the hell is going on here!” Rita looked up to see Mr. Burnside standing behind Sandra. He looked furious.

Rita smiled warmly. “Good morning Mr. Burnside,” she said. “I like your tie.”

Her boss looked Rita up and down, starting from her face, moving down over the painted-on pink minidress, the pink latex stockings, and the outlandish platform boots, then reversing and scanning back up. “My office,” he said. “Now.”

He strode away. Rita followed at a more measured pace. Her elevating boots transformed her stride into a slow, stately strut, like a royal procession.

They were barely through the door before Burnside rounded on her. “Rita I am appalled. How dare you appear at my bank dressed like this! Have you no shame? No concept of bad taste? We are running a financial services institution here, not a circus and definitely not a bordello! I have no idea what has come over you lately and frankly I don’t care. If you work in my bank you act like a banker. Now, I am going to give you about ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t sack your ass right this instant and throw you out the door.”

Rita thought about it. She said: “Mr. Burnside, do you think I have nice tits?”

“What!”

“My boobies. Do you like them? This dress really shows them off, doesn’t it.” She ran her hands down her front, as if to stretch the material over her bare boobs. The zipper came down a little.

Privately, Rita was astonished at her own behaviour. Burnside didn’t intimidate her at all. He was a man. All men were putty in the hands of a latex lovedoll like Rita. He just didn’t know it yet.

The change in direction certainly caught him off guard. “What?” he said again. His eyes followed her hands. He found himself staring at her tits, half-covered by shiny latex as if they had been polished. “Rita, now look " he began.

“No, you look,” she interrupted. “Get a good long look. Gather an eyeful. I have spectacular boobs, don’t I?” She took a step toward him. “Up close they look even better,” she whispered.

In spite of himself, her boss was still looking. He started to say something, but Rita shushed him. “Know what else,” she said, in a voice for sharing secrets, “I have great legs too. You agree, don’t you? Fabulous legs. Look how short my dress is! That’s so you can see my fabulous legs right down into those hot, sexy boots. You like the boots too, I know you do.”

Mr. Burnside was only now realizing how completely his wall-flower assistant had transformed into a man-melting super-babe. He couldn’t seem to stop staring. The thrillatex outfit advertised her deliciously curved figure so effectively it drove away all thoughts unrelated to sex. He struggled to say something. “Uhm, R-Rita, you shouldn’t ”

“Oh but of course I should,” she chided him. “I should show off my scorching hot bod so that hunky guys like you can get turned on looking at me, and that makes your day so much more fun, doesn’t it.” She stepped even closer, brushing up against him. “You are getting turned on, Mr. Burnside. I know you are. You can’t help it. I’m all your plastic playmate fantasies come to life, standing right here in your office. Of course you’re popping a big stiffie, looking at my titties, and my ass, and my legs in pretty pink latex. And maybe” she paused to take his hand “maybe even touching them.”

Burnside groaned. He watched, helpless, as Rita took his left hand and placed it gently on her left breast. She guided the right hand to her right buttock. Both hands stayed where she put them. She could feel her boss’s hard-on through his trousers.

The latexed temptress snuggled into her boss’s arms. Her breath was warm on his cheek. “Doesn’t that feel delicious, she husked. “My curvy, sexy body beneath that slick, super-thin latex; so firm yet so soft; so inviting for you to touch, to stroke, to squeeze and caress.“

Burnside’s hands were already doing all those things. “Ohsweetheaven,” he murmured. He shuddered as Rita made coital motions with her hips, pressing against his tumescence. All the anger had drained out of him.

Rita pressed her advantage. Her hands fell to his beltline. “Let’s get that big hard of yours out in the air, so I can see how much you love my hot body,” she said. “Uh-uh, no helping.” She intercepted the hand that may have been trying to stop her and escorted it back to a pink-coated tit.

“No, w-wait,” Burnside blubbered. He didn’t seem capable of removing his hand from her breast a second time. “I we I mean ah mmmmmmmm.”

Rita kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, but mostly to shut him up. Her hands worked deftly. “Oh, Richard, you are happy to see me!” she teased, deliberately using his first name. His open trousers slid down his legs. She kissed him again. By the time she finished, his underwear was following his trousers.

Her dazzled boss grunted as his formerly mousy assistant began to stroke his rigid shaft with one hand. The telephone on the desk rang. Rita used her free hand to lift the receiver. “Burnside Trust, Mr. Burnside’s office,” she said into the receiver. Her other hand kept a steady rhythm. She recognized the voice on the line as an important client. “One moment please,” she said. She held the phone up to her boss’s ear. “Tell them your busy,” she instructed.

“H-Hello,” Burnside panted, “I-I’m terribly s-sorry I’m in a m-meeting right now. I’ll call you ba mmmmmm!” Rita rang off as she kissed him into silence again.

With her lips a few millimetres from his, she reached back and yanked the phone cord out of the deskset. “No more interruptions,” she declared. “Now then, Ricky honey, let me show you why you’re going to forget all about sacking me.” She used his body to steady herself as she slid to her booted knees on the carpet. “Oooh, Ricky so hot for Rita,” she cooed, before taking him gently between her lips.

Forty-five minutes later, Rita was sitting on Burnside’s desk, knees crossed, one towering boot resting on the arm of his executive chair. She was casually flipping through messages on his mobile. “I think you missed a couple of appointments,” she said carelessly. Sitting down, her thrillatex microdress slid up to the edge of her ass.

Her boss was half-sitting, half-lying on the chair in front of her, breathing hard as he recovered from another spurting climax. His trousers and underwear were gone, along with his suit jacket. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned. He was damp with perspiration, spent and half-asleep. “Please,” he begged, “have to . . . work.”

Rita used his silk tie to wipe a bit of cum off her dress. “Not quite yet, baby. I think little dickie still has a tiny, tiny bit of resistance left in him. Let’s get rid of that, k?” She began to gently stroke his flaccid cock between her boots. “If you’re a good boy I’ll let you clean my boots again afterward.”

Burnside flopped back in his chair and closed his eyes. Beyond all reason, his shaft was waking up again, coaxed back to life by Rita’s sexy pink boots. He groaned in abject surrender.