#Gasmask Monday

[dragonsarecats38]

0038 :: Hey you!

What are you doing down there?

It’s Gasmask Monday, so you know what that means!

======================

Put on the gasmask.

Put on the gasmask.

Put on the gasmask.

Put on the gasmask. ======================

[strapskinkstories]

Feb 19 2024 - Gasmask Monday with my sweaty dress shirt and neoprene hood

What am I about to do with my sweaty dress shirt

Gasmask Monday, with a sweaty dress shirt to huff the smell of

I will also wrap my belt around my neck, it feels good to pull it tight

Gasmask Monday faceless edition hehe

Decided to throw together a little photo series for Gasmask Monday, I was gonna do something more elaborate but I've got elaborate on Twitter pending. I'm looking at what looks to be over an hour and a half gagged with my ball gag in a breathplay hood with my sweaty shirt and vest. I'm not sure when the session will be but it will happen on or before Thursday. The longer I wait the sweatier my shirt and vest get so I might wait til Thursday, not entirely sure yet.

6 Photos on Flickr HERE

Video not filmed

[genocidalfetus]

The Merc/ The Vigilante

[gummimn]

Chicago Road-trip Diary

{an old story it posted; the site seems to be offline, so it is reposting here} By gummimn.

Part 1: introductions and prologue.

I was really looking forward to the coming weekend. LatexIL and I had been chatting for quite some time about the chance of getting together for a weekend of some serious play. I had taken extra days off, so we’d have all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday to play; I didn’t have to leave until Monday afternoon. I still got hard just thinking about his profile entry.

“Latex, rubber, leather bondage: intense inescapable, short or long term. Can top, SM optional. Have equipment including sleepsacks, hoods and gags, lots of restraints, can have multiple guests in playroom at once. I like to travel too. Looking for hot safe bondage players who want it tight, inescapable, with headgear controlling sight, sound, speech and air…ESPECIALLY in head to toe latex/rubber. All holes plugged, tubed, and cath’d. Layers: leather over rubber; sacks over leather; sucked down in rac. Hobbies: rubber, catsuits, sleepsacks, straitjackets, vacrac, hoods, gags, and tight, effective restraints. Keeping bottoms tied up for as long as they like it; stored out of sight, out of mind. Favorite Quote: Maybe you need another layer of rubber and you definitely need those straps tightened up…”

Even after 12 years together, Peter still didn’t get the whole bondage/rubber/sense-dep SM scene. He did his fisting and watersports, played with guys who wanted bears, and loved me. Me? I did WS as well, but man, I wanted my rubber too. Waders, suits, sheaths front and back, hoods, gags, gasmask hoods, industrial gloves and rubber work boots; my rubber English riding boots to go with the Vex Chicago cop shirt and tight cod-piece jeans; the rubber BDU from Invincible; did I mention my home-made 1piece? It was a cross-country ski suit until I got my pervy hands and 3 quarts of liquid latex on it. Add some bondage: straitjackets, ropes, chains, restraints, collars, frames, racks, sacks, locks-and I’d be a happy pig. Leather? Oh hell yeah! I never got on my rocket without full gear: suit, boots, gloves and helmet…such a terrible thing; a gear pig required by his lover to wear gear just to go riding. Sucks to be me! My first piece of leather-a biker-hippie approved biker jacket; my knee-high Red Wing loggers-black laces for formal, white for play; leather jeans and cargoes; hoods, restraints-give me my Mr. S. 4 buckles any day; padded fist mitts; padded posture collar (Thanks again Mr. S!); padded sense-dep hood, the only connection to the outside world the grommet at my mouth. Gags-can I count the ways I like to be gagged? Yes, I can. Floggers and crops; pummeling and beating; yeah, I can take the pain, and make it a ticket to that place only a Dom and his sub can go when they’re in a scene: time stops, space expands, 2 souls commune without a spoken word-nirvana in a dungeon with pain and pleasure the mantra that lets them into the garden.

Peter doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t get in the way. One of the first “big talks” we had before living together had settled that. We discussed all the mundane things that will kill a relationship when times get tough. Times always get tough. One of you gets sick, or fired; or you see someone really hot who wants you too; the weather gets too hot or too cold. Crap happens. You work out the little details beforehand, you can get through them. So we talked. Monogamy got talked over as well: go out, have a good time, remember your heart stays at home, don’t bring home diseases. It had worked for 12 years; he had his kink or two, I had my laundry list of pervs; we shared each other and our hearts and our home.

So, I was off to a long weekend in Chicago. I’d shipped some gear ahead, but not much. LatexIL assured me that he had everything that was needed, and I wasn’t going out to the bars. So I sent on my favorite waders and boots, my favorite gags and the posture collar. The only gear in my saddlebags was a rainsuit-never leave home without it; my meds and toilet kit; and bottles of Boost for the trip down. He’d asked, and I’d readily agreed, to a liquid diet starting a couple of days before hand. No need to make a trip to interrupt the scene; the external cath would take care of the rest.

Peter and I had talked over breakfast; his bowl of cereal, my bottle of Boost. We confirmed I’d call when I got there and when I left Monday. He made sure once again that he had LatexIL’s phone and address. We clarified once again the secret code I’d use if I thought the scene was bad and I needed out. Peter can be a pain in the ass when it comes to crap like that. He’s mister “plan everything out, double check the plans, confirm the details, annoy the partner with more plans and details.” I’m a bit more impetuous and spontaneous, mister “hey, that sounds like fun! Let’s go!” He was off to work; I was off to get ready.

First on the list were a trim, then shower and douche. I got out the trimmer, and worked it over my head once again. The smallest guard left only bristly fuzz that felt soooo good to the touch. Latex had sent a liquid soap for me to use; it had an intense chemical scent, but it left my body as smooth and clean as a baby’s behind. The enema was quick; three days of liquids saw to that. I rinsed off the hair from the trim, soaped up and rinsed down. Brushed, flossed, dried off, time to get dressed.

Now was the make it or break it moment. LatexIL had sent me a really cool locking gag and a custom 1-piece suit. The gag was some sort of carbon-fiber head harness with a tube to connect to my CamelBack, and another to use as a straw for Boost on the trip down. Once I locked it over the suit, I had only one way out-I had to see Latex for the key. I took the suit, and admired it once again. Sheaths front and rear; socks with toes, gloves with grippy marks on the fingers, an attached hood the only way in; stretch the mouth wide, let it swallow me whole. It was fairly thick, but still thin enough to flex with me so I wouldn’t get fatigued on the ride. It had been cut like a SlickSuit so it would conform to my every curve. It would slide up crack of my ass so the sleeve behind could slide in with the plug I was going to wear, and stretch snug across my broad shoulders while hugging my small, slim waist. It would be my skin for the weekend, if I didn’t bug out and call the whole thing off.

I got out the lube, opened the suit, and started to pour it in. I started at the feet and worked it into the toes. Up the legs, into the crotch and over the sheaths hanging inside. Starting at the fingers, I lubed up the sleeves, then across the chest. I applied a very thin film to the back of my neck, and my lower face. I wanted the hood to slide on comfortably, but I didn’t want lube in my eyes when I started to sweat under my leathers. Now it was time to slide it on. Cold at first, it quickly warmed. My toes settled in their homes, and I slid it up my legs to my crotch. I worked my dick and nut into the sack and sheath, and then used the plug to seat the sheath in my ass. That old familiar feeling began to settle in-that horny tingle that started out on the skin and worked its way into my bones and took over my brain as I felt the rubber grip my legs and transform my skin. I pulled it up my chest, and worked my hands down the sleeves until they popped into the gloves. For a moment, I had to stop and stroke. Looking at myself in the mirror, I began to grope myself. The squeak of rubber on rubber tuned my senses to the feel of the latex as it became my skin; the warming rubber gave off that heady scent of latex and sweat and my own rubber body. I was lost in the smell and the sound and the sensation. It took all my strength to pull myself back from the edge; that would have to wait until LatexIL let me go over. I pulled the hood over my head, and smoothed the eyes and mouth into place. All that remained was the gag and the last of my freedom.

I looked at the rubberman staring out from the mirror. The light caught every curve and ripple and nook and cranny of my body under its shiny new skin. I felt up my cock, worked my nipples, pushed on the plug, pulled my nut. I could still call it off, jack off, and go for a ride. Or I could put the mouth-guard with its tubes onto my teeth, pull the strap around, and place the lock. I stood there for a long time, stroking my dick, holding the head harness. Finally, I took a deep breath and pushed the guard into my mouth. I worked my tongue around to make sure the tubes on the inside were properly seated between my back molars so I could work the bite valves for the tube that would be my drinking straw and the CamelBack connection. Looking myself in the face in the mirror, my blue eyes the only evidence of a human being within the latex man staring back at me, I pulled the straps to the back of my head…and closed the lock. Now I was in for it-he had the key and my only way out.

I stood there a while longer, worried and afraid about what I had gotten myself into; more horny and lust-demented than I had been in too long a time. My misgivings were too late now. I took one last stroke of my dick with a strong tug on my nut, and left the bathroom.

I went to the bedroom, sat down, and slipped prolyprop socks over my feet and UnderArmor glove liners over my hands. A thin silk balaclava was next; I made sure it rested on my chin so the tubes from the gag were out for use. I lifted the CoolMax liner off the bed. It was my summer salvation; it kept me dry enough in the heat I could wear my leathers in the worst of July and August. It gave my body a shield against the leathers, and kept my leathers clean and free of my sweat. The lightning bolt graphics swirling over the bodysuit gave me a shiver of power and desire as I looked it over, and took in its sweet scent. I slid into the open chest, pushed my feet down the legs, my hands through the sleeves tucked the balaclava under the neck and zipped it shut. My latex skin was now armored against the leathers to come.

It had been a sacrifice, but I now had the racing suit of my gear pig wet dreams. The A-stars SX-1. Asymmetrical chest zips, molded poly-therm armor melded onto the knees, elbows, and shoulders. The same molded poly-therm cast into an armored hump down my back to protect me from whiplash if I crashed and to guide the wind over me as I lay on top of my Daytona. A vivid sky blue, white accents, black woven stretch Kevlar in the crotch and down the arms, perfed almost like mesh, memory foam armor across my chest and abs and lower back. It looked hot, the brilliant blue contrasting with the bright sunshine yellow of the bike, meeting on my A-Star Super Tech boots of blue smashing against yellow fading to white at the toe of my boots. Next was my Arai-a white star on a blue field with gold trim. I slid the Foggy Respro over my rubber face without snagging it, made sure the tubes from the gag hung free, and cinched it snug. I reached inside my suit, grabbed the hose from my hydration pack and hooked it up to the left tube so I could drink as I rode. Last, but not least, my Icon Ti-Maxx longs: blue with bling; gold plated titanium on blue gloves, gray palms with gold studs on the heel of my palm, the wrist strap snugged, the gauntlet straps firmly closed together.

I took another look in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Under the leathers, my dick stretched further up my abs. Blue, gold, white and yellow-from head to toe; armor over my shoulders, across my elbows and down my forearms; more armor over my knees and down my shins; the armored aero-hump running down my spine; it was worth every bit of overtime. The mere sight of my skin-tight leathers alone would have gotten me off in a heartbeat if I weren’t under orders to wait. My wallet was safely under the seat, the saddlebags were packed and strapped, it was time for take-off. Sense-dep breath control head-trips, utter immobility and complete helplessness waited 7 hours away. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed my keys and locked the door behind me. In the garage, I threw my leg over and started the motor. The bike safely walked out of the garage, I did the door remote and tucked it in a saddlebag pocket. I closed the golden-blue mirrored shield, slipped it into vent-lock, and launched my rocket.

Part 2: my trip and arrival

I had gotten a semi-early start. Early enough to get there before rush hour in Chicagoland, late enough to be after the morning rush here in Minneapolis. I’d only have to stop for relief and Boost breaks, so I wasn’t worried about the time. Late May can still be a roll of the dice for weather. It can be the perfect warmth all day, and still drop to freezing after sundown. You can start out dry, and end up soaking wet. Lady Latex favored the bold. It was a perfect temp to be riding skinned in rubber and encased in armored leather. Just warm enough that a layer of sweat let the latex slide over my skin without binding or chafing, no more, no less. I took the freeway just long enough to get out of town, then took my exit, and got on the 2-lane. More fun, less dangerous than the interstate, it was my preferred way to make long rides. After all, you get twisties on 2-lane, not the interstate, and I do love to put a knee down; the sound, the feel of my puck skimming asphalt gets me almost as hard as the feel of rope wrapping around my body.

I felt every bump in the road through my plug. Each crack and ripple was transmitted from the plug to my prostate, transferred to my dick, and buzzed into my brain. Once I was safely alone, away from stoplights and stop signs, crosswalks and city speed zones, I knew I wouldn’t have to shift often, so I got into my cruising position. I lay down on the tank and tucked my boots up against the passenger pegs. To corner, I would simply shift to one side or the other; to shift, I would slip my left food down to the gear shift long enough to click it, then lift it back to the rear peg. My cock and nut and taint melted into the seat sending the motor’s hum directly to my heads, both of them. The memory foam padding on my chest absorbed bumps from the road, protecting me and allowing me to breath. The rocket merged with its pilot, the two became one, and the miles slid by.

It’s strange when you’re out on a bike. Even though a car’s air-filter doesn’t really filter out all the aromas from the air coming in, there is an exponential difference when riding. You can taste each scent as it comes: the cows in the pasture, the cottonwoods by the stream, the lilacs by the farmhouse. You see it, you smell it, you taste it all in the same instant. Combine that with the hum from the motor, the buzz from the tires, and the utter bliss of being out on your own magic carpet, and you can go into sensory overload. It’s like being high without the down or the expense of weed. It’s like being born again each and every second, the whole of your being a clean slate every moment. No past, no future, only now, forever and ever amen and amen. Sometimes you just have to stop, get off the rocket, and shake your head to clear out the joy and release the beauty. Then it’s back on the magic carpet and off to the horizon again. Four times I stopped; twice to fuel my Daytona, twice more to fuel the pilot as well. Before I knew it, I was on the outskirts of Chicagoland. Taking the two-lane meant I hadn’t had to worry about tolls, but it also meant I had to heed the directions from my Garmin to twist my way into the city. Even so, it was going to be perfectly timed. I’d arrive just after LatexIL got home, so he’d be there to open his garage and I could ride right in.

After that, my freedom so real and so perfect while on two wheels would be over. My freedom freely given and utterly taken would be transformed into complete slavery in total bondage. In my servitude, I would achieve a new bliss, a different joy, a deeper beauty. I could not wait to be utterly confined and perfectly helpless. The thought of the total freedom of the ride taken to become the utter submission of my captor’s bondage made me so hard and horny I could barely focus on the road ahead.

Finally, I arrived at the address I’d programmed into my digital map. As I rolled up to the brownstone, I saw the tuck-under garage left open for my entry. I settled my rocket into the berth gently; I don’t think any of the neighbors noticed. To them I was just another sport bike rider parking my toy for the night. I stood up stiffly, and stretched, then stood off my bike. The door from the garage to the house stood open, as he said it would be. I unstrapped the saddlebags, threw them over my shoulder, and entered, closing the door and my freedom behind me.

Part 3: the scene begins.

As I shut the door, I heard a voice behind me.

“Hello blue.”

The same deep voice I’d heard so often on our Skype chats, but wrong; it’s Bryce, not blue. Suddenly, my world shifted as my mind spun. Vertigo like from a harsh fever swept through me; even as I stepped away from the door, my body came to a complete stop. I swear, for a moment, I couldn’t even breathe as every muscle in my body froze. I tried to turn to face him; my chest didn’t shift an inch. I tried to turn my head; I stared straight ahead at the closed door. I tried to lift my hand to raise my face-shield; it hung stiffly at my side. I gave one last effort to try and see him in the corner of my sight; my eyes were fixed, looking at the peephole in the door. Even my dick froze in mid-twitch! Something inside my mind had hijacked my body; I was more subdued than I had ever been in any amount of rope, restraints or chains. My mind raced, What the fuck!? What just happened? What’s with that word? Why has it paralyzed me?

Minutes passed while I struggled to move any muscle in my body. Nothing shifted the least bit. Sweat broke out over the whole of my skin as I panicked. The only motion I had was my breathing; as the vertigo swept past, it had returned. Now I was sucking air like I’d run the quarter mile as I went into full flight mode. I should’ve been tearing out the door and onto the street, the way my mind was racing. Instead I was a leather and latex statue, an armored mannequin of flesh and bone. Finally, I heard him step up behind me.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to turn around and say hello?”

That same deep sexy voice, now laced with sarcasm and menace.

“Oh wait, that’s right, you can’t. I’ve said the magic word.”

Fuck, the vertigo, the frozen breath, the swirling in my mind, only stronger and deeper somehow.

“Blue, turn around and face the mirror.”

Before, I had struggled with all my might to turn and face him; now I willed every muscle, every fiber, every bone in my body to stay where I was. As paralyzed as my body was before, now it moved on its own; against my will, I turned around. Looking across the entryway, a small mudroom and laundry, there was a mirror on the far wall. Like I was on a leash, my body stepped forward, crossed the 4 paces to reach the mirror, and came to a complete stop. Not like I normally would stop, you know, slowing down as I approached, then bringing my rear foot forward to rest beside the front. No, my body strode across the room and STOPPED; I almost pitched forward into the wall it was so abrupt. If I had been scared before, this display nearly shut me down with terror.

As I came back to my body, my thoughts crashed around my skull, “What the Hell? What is in that word? Why can it move me, when I can’t move myself?”

He had followed me across the room. I could see him beside me as I stared straight ahead into the mirror. Even the normal movement of my eyes, back and forth, up and down, was frozen. I could only look straight ahead, eyes perfectly level, no left or right. If he had stepped even one step to the side, I would not be able to see him, because he would be out of my direct line of sight.

“Blue, examine your reflection in the mirror. Enable sub-routine Bryce to access optical sensors without security filter 421. Apply. Bryce, can you see everything?”

Damn, that voice of his; so strong, so commanding over Skype, was beyond strong, beyond commanding when in the same room. Even as I relaxed into his voice as I had so many times before, my mind swirled again, and my vision shifted. I stared; my breath caught in my throat. I could see everything.

“What the Fuck? There’s a padlock through the chinch rings on my chinstrap; where did it come from? When had it been put there? What the hell? Why is there zip ties cinched from my suit’s zipper pulls to the D-rings on my collar? What the Fuckity Fuck is a collar doing around my neck? What the Fuck is it made of? It looks like carbon fiber! Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck! There’s another one of those freaky zip-ties around each wrist, strapping my gloves to my arms! My Boots! There’s some sort of carbon fiber strap wrapped around the top of my boots! From the top of my instep to the top of the wedge-shaped shin-guard, there’s a fucking carbon fiber strap snugged around my boots! What the hell is going on here? Why am I locked into my leathers? Who did this to me? When!?!? What is in that word!? Why can’t I do anything unless he says blue!?”

I screamed-but it was only in my head; not a sound came out of my throat.

My eyes flickered back up from my boots to look at the face of the man beside me. The open inviting smile I had seen on cam was now a malevolent grin. He was obviously getting off on my terror and confusion. He was looking at me in the mirror as I was looking at him. Waiting for me to see everything there was to see in my reflection.

“Do you like what you see, Bryce?” His deep, strong voice could make my breath stop in my throat, even in my stark raving terror. Even in my stark raving terror, I did like what I saw. The vision in the mirror, a crotch-rocketeer locked in his leathers, gloves, boots and helmet, had me hard. If I was a leaker, I’d have been dripping; but I’m not. Instead, my dick tried to crawl up out of the codpiece and into my throat. I was trembling now not in fear, but in stark raving horniness. Carbon fiber straps shone like gloss black paint over my boot tops. Wide carbon fiber straps cinched my gloves to my arms, gloss black over matte blue and gray and shiny gold. A carbon fiber collar gleamed between the collar-less top of my racing suit and the bottom edge of my helmet. The shiny chrome of the D-rings were reflected on the collar, and made the strap connecting the suit zip to the D-ring seem like a glossy ribbon of black light. There were 2 tubes hanging from under my helmet; I could feel something in my nose, I realized it must be the tubes. I could see the top of a rubber suit rising from my leathers; I was now aware it continued as a hood. I was completely sealed in rubber, from head to toe. There was a tube sticking out from the top of my leathers that disappeared into my helmet; I could feel it was attached to the gag in my mouth, and it was leaking. I could feel a catheter in my dick; that must be what’s leaking. There was a MONSTER plug in my ass; I estimated at least a 3-inch diameter. Everything his profile promised had been delivered. Every opening was tubed, cath’d, gagged and plugged. I was so horny, so hard, so turned on, I was vibrating.

As I came back to earth, I wondered what had gone through people’s mind as they had seen me at the gas station. It was very obvious to anyone who looked that my suit was locked on me. The thought that I had ridden all the way to Chicago from Minneapolis in obvious bondage for everyone to see sent my mind into another horny tailspin and made my dick twitch. At least that muscle could now move on its own!

As my mind cleared, my eyes bore into the reflection of his. Not that he could see mine through the mirrored visor. But still, they did. The horniness had given way to terror had given way to rage.

“What the fuck have you done to me? Why can’t I move? When did I get locked in my gear? Who locked me up? What the HELL is going on? What’s in the word blue that it controls everything I do?”

All what I would have shouted, loud enough to crack the mirror in front of me... If I could have spoken... but there was that gag...

“You must be a bit confused.” “A Bit!?” “Would you like to know what happened?” “HELL yeah, I want to know what happened!” “Blue…Remember this morning.”

If my body hadn’t been stone cold paralyzed, I’d have collapsed to the floor as another wave of vertigo swept my mind. I remembered this morning; oh Hell, did I ever remember this morning.

Next: “Memories Light the Corners of My Mind….”

[mysticfire-aka-gummilucy]

Gasmask-Monday

[thelatexlodge]

Good morning! a day early for gasmask monday, but every day is a good day for gas masks!

[rammaukins]

IMPORTANT NOTE: Everything that appears here, in this story, only exists in my mind, anything that resembles reality is coincidence or fortuitous. . . ( hopefully there will be many of these Love, or not, who knows :( (Sad) )

STUCK 2 - Timmy's Mistake

Part 2

Tammy couldn't resist the urges running through her body anymore and started to play with herself. She came close to having the much desired orgasm several times but could not get over the edge. She indicated to her sister that she would like to stay home and explore her new body, hoping to reach climax.

"Another bad thing I forgot to tell you is, as long as you wear the suit with the glue, you can only have an orgasm with a partner," Mary said with a mischievous grin before putting on the hood. "You better come to the party if you don't want to be horny without relief for the next 72 hours."

The cab driver gave them a strange look when two Alien Space Demons got into his taxi. After reading the note Mary gave him, he took them to the lake.

Later at the party at the lake, after dancing to some trendy songs and frolicking together with her sister with some of the players from the college soccer team, Tammy could no longer control the nature of her new sex. The attention, the nice words and the gestures toward her went to her head, making her even more horny. Her new body's reaction to the feel of another person's touch, greatly enhanced by the suit, almost drove her crazy with desire.

Soon she and her sister were in one of the rooms of the house, together with Mary's boyfriend and his best buddy. There she lost her virginity, by having her first sex as a woman with a friend of her sister. Shortly thereafter, when the best buddy couldn’t keep going, she had sex with the captain of the team in another part of the house. It was on these occasions that Tammy discovered that the costume had some surprise openings, and also that the gasmask part could be removed by a partner, leading to more opportunities.

In both cases, Tammy discovered sex in all its splendor and perversity. As a woman it was far better than she had ever imagined, and she became addicted. All weekend long, when she wasn't sleeping from exhaustion, she would have sex. And what she enjoyed most was when she could have more than one partner when she did it, which led to many orgasms. As it was the first time she wore such an outfit, she was totally overwhelmed.

Late Monday night, after the soccer captain got them home just in time before the glue stopped working, they both took off their suits and hugged for the first time as sisters. Tammy and her sister looked deeply into each other's eyes. Mary knew instantly that her new sister was very grateful for her sex change, and not angry about the trap she had set for her.

After three days inside the suits and almost constant sex the girls noticed how sticky they were and headed towards the shower. Not as usual each to their own bathroom but together into Mary's. In an unspoken agreement they helped each other with washing their hair and gave one another a rub down. If they hadn't been so tired this might have led to something more, but so it was just a cleaning.

When they came out of the shower Mary gave Tammy her first female lingerie. Tammy loved the look and feeling of her new clothes, because she was now as beautiful as her big sister. Missing the tightness around their bodies after being compressed for three days they decided to wear pantyhoses to bed. When they were finished getting ready they dropped unto Mary's bed, where they cuddled up close to each other, holding hands.

"Rest my little sis," Mary said giving Tammy a kiss on the lips. "The day after tomorrow we have been invited to another party."

"Can I wear another outfit of yours when we go?" asked Tammy, with a yawn, feeling herself getting sleepy.

"No!" Mary answered her sharply, as she brushed a strand of hair away from Tammy's face. "You have to! They want us to come as latex mermaids this time. We will have to do some shopping at Lascivia tomorrow. "

Tammy smiled before falling asleep at those words, imagining the mouth jobs she would have to give.

And so, with Mary's help, in every aspect, Tammy easily adapted to her new life. The captain of the soccer team became her first boyfriend. Not that she managed to be very faithful.

Many adventures followed with other costumes and other partners, male and female. And later she became, along with her sister, the most popular latex models at parties and in Onlyfan. Tammy never regretted her choice, as she had all the sex she could ever want and made good money while doing it.

End-Ende-Fine-Fin

Story by Rammaukin

Correction by KunKlo. ____________________________________________________

You can support me on my >> Patreon <<

[banana-can-do-art]

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Ten people I want to get to know better...

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Last TV show: Mitsu to doku it was bleh I'm going to drop it.

Last book: kindred by octavia e. butler, the book is amazing. I listened to six hours in one sitting, and I'm glad that I picked up the book on a whim, and I'm looking forward to continuing and finishing the book tonight.

Sweet/savory/spicy: sweet and spicy and savory.

Last thing I googled: deep gold hex code.

Current obsession: i don't have any currently.

Looking forward to: re-watch severance s01 to watch the second season and re-watch black sail since I stopped watching on s03 and learning amigurumi crochet.

Tagging

@rhubarbspring @talasem @noireservoir @mysweetsageofgrace @dirhwangdaseul @socalgal @kahin @antiauteur @buttercuparry @feluka

[lokana-lighto]

Its Gasmask Monday I would wear my C3 anyway.

[astridmaikdottir]

WHEN: February 6, 2023 WHERE: VII Verdens Ende, Bloodhearth WHO: @dantehart​

Another Monday, another week of leaving her house at dawn only to barely make her way back through the heavily secured door in Bloodhearth by midnight. Astrid made her own hours, and she made them long the way she was used to them being. 

Johann Sebastian Bark met her at the creaky gate that separated her property from the winding dirt street she frequented, walking to and fro the train station each day. Knowing how many women just like her went missing on this island should have worried her, walking alone as she did, but Astrid actively made sure she didn’t let it. There were better ways to spend a lifetime than worrying. 

Tonight the bottle she uncorked at the counter was a $12 red blend from the Bloodhearth gas station. It was worth maybe $4, but she would have paid $50 to be spared checkout boy Johnny Page’s methodic ramblings - emphasis on the meth - at the till. As usual the bottle was carried home under her arm with one hand wrapped around the glass neck, in case she needed to use it as a weapon. 

At home she overpoured it into a thin-stemmed wine glass with a full, round top. The wine sloshed back and forth as it glug glug glugged from the bottle. She corked it and left it on the counter, whistled for her cat and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t come, lit a balsam candle and sank down onto the couch which was low to the ground and covered in thick fur blankets. 

She sipped and sighed and considered slipping her fingers under the waistband of her good sweatpants but after another second decided it seemed like too much effort, and then somewhere between flipping channels and taking a quiz to see which extinct species of bug the internet said she was, Astrid fell asleep on the couch and did not awake for some time until the alarm began to ring.

“Five minutes.” Her hand reached out to silence her phone, but all it found was the scorching lick of flame. Astrid shot up from the couch, wine glass shattering against the floor. Smoke reached her eyes before her lungs; she couldn’t have seen the clear way out even before the coughing began and distracted her. At some point in the confusion Johann’s jaw locked around her arm and the dog’s gnarly teeth sank straight down to the bone as he yanked and pulled Astrid through the house, until the beams began to come down and blocked his path. “Shh, it’s okay,” she choked out when the fearsome beast whimpered its apology at only getting her so far. If she could only see, but the tears from the smoke made it impossible. It wasn’t the pain, but the impediment. 

Astrid buried her face in the dog’s thick, midnight fur allowing her brain a second to catch up to her body. No one is coming for you, she reminded herself. She doubted the neighbors would call for help. Once, in the 40’s, they’d set it on fire themselves. To Astrid it didn’t feel like all that long ago. No one is coming, get up. She’d lived in this house for more than a hundred years, built and rebuilt it with her own hands. She didn’t need to see to know her way through it, she knew it by heart. Astrid closed her eyes, took a step forward, and ran face first into some man’s gasmask before vomiting black all across his boots. 

[big-low-t]

Voivod - "Gasmask Revival"

[thelatexlodge]

Its gasmask monday and we are prepared.

[ellafmpflipside]

Final Piece Lino Prints

On Monday, I started to finish off printing all of my linos but this time in a royal blue I created using white and a blue ink. I made sure to firstly print on paper then to print on to fabric. I wanted to make sure I have the right amount of ink on my roller so it doesn’t come out faded or even too inky. 

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘Monday, April 22 1918 -- We are still living in our dugout here in the trenches, but we are expecting to be relieved very soon. We have had our clothes on continuously since we have been in here, because we are roused out at any and all hours of night with gas attack alarms and bombardments, and time is too valuable on such occasions to be wasted in putting on our clothes. I sleep with my rubber boots besides my bunk, my helmet and gasmask in bed with me, and my loaded pistol hanging over my head, and when the guard yells I am ready for action in less than a minute.’

Somewhere in Northeast France, American journalist/cartoonist with the Rainbow Division. In this letter and sketch he describes the sleeping conditions in the dugout: wooden bunks had poultry wire or wooden planks to support a sleeping solder. On the side of the bunks hung weapons and equipment to be close at hand in the event of a raid – From the awesome book “Somewhere Over There: The Letters, Diary, and Artwork of a World War I Caporal”

[gachaghost-blog]

❌Got Somethin' Ta Say?!❌ 👻🐷💀 So I was suppose to make a music Monday post tonight but it's not quite done. So this will be my stand in till tomorrow. Another night another tank! Lol now I just need to make an Orisa, Winston, and Rein drawing and we'll have the whole tank lot. Unless hero 27 is a tank, I'd be so down. More tanks please they are all my main! 👻 Who's your favorite Overwatch character? What do you main? Do you play on PC? Would you like to hang out with me? Feel free to add me. You can find my tag at the Gacha Games page on YouTube where I'll soon be uploading highlights from my games as well. Let me know if you'd like to see some here! 👻 #gethooked #gachaponks 👻 . . . #roadhog #instakill #fatality #mortalkambat #overwatch #playofthegame #roadhog #potg #hookedonafeeling #getoverhere #scorpion #madmaxfuryroad #raiderboss #junkerqueen #hero27 #goth #emo #steampunk #waistlandadventure #fallout #junkrat #blackeverything #pinky #squealforme #gasmask #horror #slipknot

[pickmansvinyls]

Current orders and Bette Davis Eyes preorders will all start shipping this Monday! Thank you All for your support! . To celebrate, preorders are officially live for entry two in the creature feature series- HARRY WARDEN! . Featuring ball socket articulation, a rubber gasmask hose and a pickax accessory, Harry is the first 3 3/4” creature feature entry! . Www.pickmansvinyls.bigcartel.com . #pickmansvinyls #resintoy #newwork #pickmansmidnightcreaturefeature #actionfigure #customactionfigure #customtoy #horrortoy #sculpting #clay #progress #harrywarden #mybloodyvalentine #cultclassic #threeandthreequarters #resinempire #preorder #nowavailable #valentinesday https://www.instagram.com/p/B8mfGltH_Dl/?igshid=130sgndwff4cj