Foreword

An old joke goes something like this…

Henry Ford dies and goes to Heaven. Upon arriving he immediately starts complaining about howinefficiently the place is being run. It gets so bad that God Himself intervenes, at which point Henry beginstaking God to task over His design of woman.

“Your invention is the most flawed work of engineering I eversaw. There is too much front endprotrusion, the rear end wobbles too much, it chatters at high speeds, and theprimary intake is too close to the exhaust.”

“As may be, Mr. Ford,” says God, wryly amused, “but more men areriding My product than ever rode yours.”

Jokes often define a culture, and America’s culture is indisputablydominated by the automobile. Welove our cars. We love them somuch, in fact, that we often act as though they were alive. We talk to them, give them names, andassign feminine qualities to them, even to the point of referring to them as ‘she’.

But as the above joke points out, we seem to blur the distinctionsbetween our cars and our women, as so much of our speech bears out: ‘Man, I’dlike to take her for a spin’, or ‘I bet she’s a great ride’, or, ‘she’s toohigh-maintenance’. I even knew aguy who euphemistically referred to having sex with his wife as ‘changing heroil’. It is a strange cultureindeed, where a woman’s breasts are often called headlights and we put bras onour cars. This being the case, isthe following cautionary tale of Rod and Yvette so very farfetched?

Chapter 1

The Formula

“Honestly, Roddy, you spend more time with that car than you do withme!”

“Now, now, ‘vette,” I crooned as I slipped into bed beside her,cupping a wonderfully full double-d and nuzzling her ear, the scent of herflowery perfume mingling with the fabric softener from the crisp, clean sheets,“you know I’d much rather be in here, rubbing oil on your hot body instead ofin the garage waxing Justine’s, but she needs it, baby.”

“Justine needs it,” she grumbled huffily, doing a good impression ofmy California surfer dude accent, though not pushing my hand from her tit,which meant that she wasn’t really angry. “I sometimes think,” she continued with a most becoming petulance, “thatif I had a shiny paint job, you might pay as much attention to me.”

I silenced her with a kiss that she grudgingly accepted, which thenwent from 0 to 60 in 6.6 seconds. It is one of the things I love about my ‘vette—get her motorrunning and she’ll go all night. She quickly got on top of me and slipped ‘Little Rod’ inside her moistquim, having already taken care of that pesky foreplay nonsense while I was outbuffing my sweet Justine’s rear end. She rode me with a perfect rhythm, always pulsing her meat-grinder pussywhenever she reached bottom-dead center, then sliding back upward, hummingsteadily all the while.

We finished at the same time—her doing, not mine—for my‘vette is highly responsive. Ifondled her heavy boobs while she softly whimpered, shaking in the throes ofher climax until she collapsed on top of me. We lay there like that, skin to skin, her luscious brunettelocks pooled in the joint of my neck and shoulder, until we both fell asleep.

I dreamt of her, as I so often did, of my beautiful Justine. There are cars and there are cars, butmy canary yellow ‘68 Pontiac GTO is a work of fucking art: the way her roofseamlessly flows into her rear quarter panel, the sinuous grace of her bigfront end, and the gentle curve of her hood, under which is nestled her 400cubic inches of screaming Detroit iron, capable of pumping out 350 barelycontrolled horses. Together wedrove into the blazing Arizona sunset, just the two of us, my heart hammeringin tune with her motor as we easily tore up the desert highway.  I sighed contentedly, and reached outand put my hand on the back of the passenger seat headrest, marveling at itscoolness despite the summer heat.

But under my hand the teal-colored vinyl began shifting, moving, and I looked quickly over to discover theheadrest taking the shape of a human head! I yanked my hand away just as gleaming, rounded shouldersbegan forming from the body of the seat, a pair of large, shining breastsemerged from the front side of the backrest, and two glossy thighs eruptedupward from the seat. The headrestswiveled—flowed, more like—in my direction, the setting sunreflecting off of its smooth, featureless surface, which began rippling like apool of still water into which a pebble has been dropped, gradually resolvinginto a polished blue-green simulacrum of my sweet Yvette.

An elegant imitation hand reached out and began languidly strokingthe back of my neck. “Yvette?” Iheard myself say in that stupid slow motion that so often happens in dreams,but at that moment my teal companion quickly threw her leg over me, straddlingme in my seat, and shoved a plasticky tongue down my throat.

“Mmph…!” I protested, but I wasn’t really fighting her. She felt so good in my arms, so smooth,so sleek, the vinyl skin of her big boobs cool against my bare chest.  With a fluid grace she rose up andfreed my stiff shaft from its denim confinement, and just as easily settledherself atop it, her hot rubbery pussy embracing my turgid meat.

She pressed herself into me as we fucked at ninety miles perhour—I was in seventh heaven. Being inside my vinyl ‘vette as we drove was the most intense experienceI had ever known: her slippery smooth cunt combined with the powerful rumblingof the GTO’s turbocharged engine sending shockwaves through me, pushing myawareness into another dimension.

But some small part of me managed to stay tethered to my paradoxicaldream-reality, and I began to notice that something was wrong. Whenever I thrust upward, trying tomatch her passion, she snapped quickly back, like a rubber band.  I opened my eyes to find that her lowerbody, from her feet to her to knees, had melted into my seat, as had her armsup to the elbow, trapping me in her vinyl embrace. I tried to scream, but her mouth was firmly seated overmine, the smell of her ethylene perfume strong in my nostrils.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any more intense, theballoon-like walls of her latex pussy shifted into overdrive, rubbing myrock-hard meat in an indescribably delicious fashion. My muffled screams doubled, not out of fear, but due to theglorious feeling of my jizz percolating upward from my balls, an impendingsensation of release that almost distracted me from the sight of the giant rockformation that filled the whole of the windshield as we slammed into it.

I screamed in ecstasy, the shattering of glass and the twisting ofmetal giving way to a cataclysmic explosion as I erupted inside of my flesh andblood wife. Yvette’s body wasstill lying atop mine, her fevered grunting filling my ears while her slipperypussy clamped firmly around my spasming prick, load after load of my creamy goospurting into her, until finally we both lay there, silent save for the soundsof our labored breathing.

After a bit she rose shakily up onto her elbows, my sweet ‘vette, andpressed her trembling lips to mine. “God…Rod…” she rasped, as though relearning speech, “you’re even a greatfuck when you’re asleep.” Shenuzzled me softly, her long lashes fluttering against my cheek like butterflywings. “By the way,” she cooed,“it’s after midnight, birthday boy. Is there anything special your best girl can give you on the occasion ofthe big three-oh?”

“Well, actually…” I hesitated, the image of her shiny skin stillfresh in my mind, “…there is one thing….”

Epiphanies. You gottalove ‘em.

___________________________

“Are you sure this is safe, Roddy?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked that question, nor did I expectit would be the last time I would answer it. “Yes, my love,” I replied in soothing tones, the half-maskrespirator I was wearing probably not helping me to sound convincing in theslightest, “it is perfectly safe. You know that I would not endanger you, or your wondrous bosom for thatmatter, for love or money.”

I had to give Yvette credit; allowing me to spray paint her body formy enjoyment is about a hundred times further than most women would ever go fortheir men, but she has always had quite the adventurous streak. Whether it was bondage, spanking, analsex, or home movies wherein she would stuff herself airtight with multiple sextoys while I watched, video camera in one hand, a Guinness in the other, shewas game for it.

But there were things she wouldn’t do, however, the first being thatshe wasn’t into group sex, or swinging, which was no skin off my nose as I’mnot into sharing. She alsowouldn’t do girls, a real bummer considering the first rate poon there is to behad in the University of Phoenix theatre department, where she works as ascenic artist/electrician/seamstress/utility infielder. And though she would—and oftendid—give me road head in my truck, she flatly refused to blow me when wewere out in my GTO, citing that sex within spitting distance of Justinequalified as a ménage a trois.

Those few small things aside, there was one thing that added jalapeñojelly to an already spicy relationship: her vacuum bed, an insidious device thatshe’d bought off the Internets long before I’d met her. Usually once a week, or after anespecially stressful day in the University theatre, she would climb in betweenthe two sheets of 14-gauge medical latex. I would then close the zipper and pump out all of the air, leaving herencased in a rubber cocoon, her bullet vibrator invisibly scotched away insideher sweet pussy. For up to twohours she would endure this sensory deprivation (the unit ran virtuallysilently due to the heavy-duty vacuum pump we’d installed in our garage, ducteddirectly to our bedroom), unable to move, speak, or do anything other thanconcentrate on the heightened sensations coming from her inaccessible snatch.

I would often sit there, admiring her lustrous form as it writhed impotentlywithin in its tube-steel frame like some shrink-wrapped sex toy, the overheadlight reflecting off the clear plastic giving her wonderful body an unbrokensheen. I loved watching her bigboobs swell outward as she took deep, gasping breaths, and her flat bellyrippling in her solitary ecstasy, her pleasure literally in my hands, for Iheld the remote control that powered the little machine buzzing away insideher. Cycle after cycle I wouldtake her up and bring her back down, driving her as close to the very edge as Icould, but never, per her request, allowing her to climax. Sometimes I would run my hands over hersmooth form, or if I was feeling especially naughty I might take a vibrator ineach hand and work over her erect nipples or her clit for several long minutes(though she claimed it felt like hours), but mostly I would just watch her,vicariously enjoying her inordinate pleasure, my dick a throbbing lead pipe inmy pants.

When she could take no more, which was usually signaled by frenziedscreaming coming from her breathing tube, I would release her from her rubberconfinement, whereupon she would invariably leap upon me, grunting like somepreternatural beast whose sole reason for being was to have my stiff johnsoninside her. We would spend therest of the night fucking like minks, which would often result in my shamblinginto work the next morning looking as though I’d been run over by a semi-truck,and though my co-workers would rib me about it, their envy was unmistakable.

I think it was our vacuum bed antics that made me fall in love withher (although her stupendous boobage had certainly helped to seal the deal) andI asked her to marry me in only three short months. She accepted, the reason being that none of her previousparamours had shown such unerring skill at handling her body while encasedbetween the glossy latex sheets. No man could possibly want more, and I didn’t, but that shiny tealvision of her was simply too erotic to let slip by, especially since I had themeans to do it.

She now stood there with the patience of a saint, buck-naked, in thecenter stall of our three-car garage, her head poking up through a poly sheet,the four corners of which had been clamped to four stanchions, also at neckheight. I didn’t strictly have todo it this way, but I wanted to take my time airbrushing my ‘vette’s bodywithout her having to wear a respirator, and I also wanted to minimize thechances of her seeing what was going on and chickening out once I beganapplying the coating. It was apain, working under the poly sheet, which forced me to work either hunchedover, or on my knees—hell, it had been easier painting Justine.

All three garage doors were cracked to knee-level, with a few windowfans blowing outward to ensure good ventilation. I was glad that we were able to get such an early start, asthe day promised to be your typical early summer scorcher, and the relativecoolness of the morning would make for a trouble-free application. The ‘paint’ I was using, a failedleather protectant that I had concocted (and for which I had been royallychewed out by my bosses at AZ-TECH for ‘wasting valuable company resources’ onpoor science), tinted to Yvette’s overall flesh tone, went on smoothly whenapplied with an airbrush. She stoodperfectly still while I worked, bending over when asked, raising this orlifting that, giggling sweetly when I parted her heavy boobs so that I couldensure complete coverage.

Formula LP_16/2 is a very forgiving polymer; I designed it tobe. It is a ‘dry liquid’, verylike mercury, and when sprayed on it forms a fine, even coating upon whatevermaterial it is applied. I’dretrieved a liter of it from chemical storage early this morning, lighting outfor AZ-TECH only minutes after the cock crowed, so to speak, my rapidlyrecovering prick already threatening to burn a hole in my chinos, imagining howmy ‘vette would look when we were done.

I airbrushed every last inch of Yvette’s tight young body, save forthe bottoms of her feet, which could be done later if we chose to continue, andfor her nipples, masked off with perfectly circular tape cutouts, which I wouldtake care of once this basecoat was complete. Every other part of her body that I didn’t want coated, suchas her sweet poon, rosebud, and belly button, was covered with K-Y jelly, thuspreventing adhesion, for the forgiving nature of my polymer, a double-chainelastomer consisting of striated rubber and carbon, allows it to fill cracksand crevices, forming a tough yet flexible layer of pseudo-skin that even myenraged cock wouldn’t be able to penetrate.

With the body coat complete, I extracted a promise from my belovedthat she keep her eyes closed until the grand unveiling (as an artist Yvetteunderstands works-in-progress). Ithen pulled the tape that held together the poly paint booth under her chin,and got to work on her lovely face. She was makeup free and had applied astringent, thus ensuring a clean,paint-ready surface. The basecoattook only minutes to apply with a sponge, and was made easier by her havingtied her long hair in a ponytail and pinning it up. I did her full lips in a deep scarlet (my polymer takespigment exceedingly well), and her eyelids and nipples in a matching cotton candypink. I could not do hercheekbones or any complicated blending, as my polymer doesn’t allow for thatunless you apply coat-on-coat.

I stepped back and looked at her, and I have to say she looked trulystrange, what with her unnatural uniformity of color, and the complete lack ofmoles, birthmarks, tan lines, or other distinctive features. Even her fashionably bald quim lookedlike little more than a camel toe in a flesh-colored leotard.  The polymer had cracked in all theplaces that skin normally cracks, which was not unexpected, and it was behavingprecisely as it had when I’d experimented on my various leather samples atwork. All that was left was toapply heat, which would activate the polymer. “Are you ready, love?”

“Go ‘or it,” she replied, diligently avoiding pressing her lipstogether, and though her demeanor was casual I could sense hernervousness. She was placing allher trust in me, for I had not told her precisely what the outcome of thislittle experiment, her gift to me, would be, only that I had wanted to painther, using something that I had designed at work, and that I wanted to surpriseher.

I switched on the video camera, hoping to preserve this memory forposterity (and also in case she might not want to do it again), and turned onthe blow dryer. I started at herfeet, gently, for I didn’t want to propel the coating off her body, thusleaving unsightly bare spots. Itwasn’t that big of a concern, though, for although my polymer only adheres tothe skin by means of static electricity, it is extremely sticky to itself.

I played the blow dryer on her feet, her scarlet toenails alsoprotected with K-Y jelly, and gasped as the chemical reaction began. Once the heat hit her, her ‘skin’rapidly transformed, its dry, almost powdery look turning glassy in the harshoverhead light.

“Ohh…” Yvette moaned, and I looked up to find that her parted lipswere now a distinct ‘O’ shape, her magnificent bosom rising and fallingrapidly.

“Yvette…?”

“Kee’ go-een, Rah-dee,” she replied, determinedly not disturbing her‘makeup’. “It ‘eels weird, ‘utnice.”

She was holding her arms slightly out from her sides, and judging bythe way her fingers trembled, her increased respirations, and the way hercoated breasts heaved, it looked to my eyes as though it felt rather more than‘nice’. I continued up herfreshly-shaven legs, trying to keep from laughing giddily as they took on areflective sheen, indistinguishable from plastic.

“Aaah…!” she moaned, and I could understand, at least academically,what she was feeling. As thepolymer heated up, it instantly began forming a striated mesh, not unlike pantyhose, though much, much smaller. This mesh was now contracting as it warmed, dragging literally millionsof tiny squares across her skin, tantalizing every nerve ending.

I continued up her thighs, marveling at their glossy beauty, and mydick almost exploded in my pants as I watched the globes of her fine ass hardenbefore my eyes, actually seeing my reflection in it! Upward I went, my own stifled moans competing with Yvette’sas I played the blow dryer on her rapidly perfecting body.

Holding my breath, I began working on her breasts, my moansoutstripping hers as I watched her incredible funbags take on a lustrous sheen,her nipples harder than I could ever remember seeing them, and I almost droppedthe blow dryer from my shaking hands in my excitement. Finally I reached her face, thankfulthat she couldn’t hear my ragged breathing over the whine of the blowdryer. In scant moments mybeautiful bride went from being a soft, human creature to a living, breathingmannequin. I turned off the dryerand stepped back, taking in the totality of her now flawless form.

“Oh…my…God,” I whispered through dry lips.

“Roddy…?” she ventured, a little unnerved, no doubt, by my awedsilence. “Is it…do I look okay?”

“Jesus, ‘vette, you have no idea,” I said, my voice a dry rasp. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…warm, and a little tingly…all over. Can I…open my eyes now?”

“No…don’t move. Give mea second. I want to do thisright.” I hobbled out of thegarage, my shaking legs barely able to support me, and made my way to thebedroom. A minute later I set thefull-length mirror that normally hangs on the back of our bedroom door againstone of the stanchions in front of her; I wanted to give her the fulleffect. “Okay,” I said, standing alittle off to one side, unable to keep the apprehension from my voice, becauseif she didn’t like what I’d done our relationship was going to take a hit, forI would always want to do this again, “you can open them.”

She did so, and the look upon her plasticized face waspriceless. She gazed at herreflective reflection for a full minute, not speaking, not making a sound, herbright blue eyes wide in astonishment. She then slowly, gradually, opened her mouth, as though it felt foreignto her, “Oh…my…God,” she whispered, raising a shining arm to point at the imagein the mirror. “Roddy…” shestarted, her breath coming fast, “I look so…fake! Unnh…!” at which point she fell to her knees and began shakinguncontrollably.

“Yvette…!” I cried, frightened. Panicking, I knelt down to take her in my arms, but she quickly grabbeda hold of me instead.

“God…unnh!…Rod…!”she panted, grasping at my shoulders. “I…!” and there was no mistaking what was happening to her—she wascoming! She bucked and twitched inmy arms, gasping hoarsely, crying and shaking as she rode out her spontaneousclimax. Clutching me as she was,my forearms pinned to her sides, I was robbed of the opportunity of joining in,of touching her shiny new body, and I certainly wasn’t about to do anythingthat might disturb what appeared to be an orgasm of biblical proportions. But though I couldn’t touch her, therewas another sense available to me, and with my nose buried in the joint of herneck and shoulder I couldn’t help but take in her scent, almost coming in mychinos as her perfume entered my nostrils—new car smell!

But as I gloried in her heady fragrance, her hands quickly moved upand grabbed my head, and scant seconds later found her tongue sliding into mymouth. The feel of her lips uponmine was truly magical; they were so smooth, so unreal!

“Ohh…” I moaned, as my hands, freed from their constriction, found my‘vette’s waist. Her skin felt likerubber, almost like she was wearing a wetsuit. I moved my hands up and down her body while her tonguecontinued assaulting my mouth. Itjust felt so wonderful I couldn’t believe it. I wasted no time sliding my hands up to her fantastic boobs,the warmth of her artificial skin more erotic than any sensation I had everknown. Her heavy juggs feltsomehow lighter in my hands, which the reasoning though rapidly dwindling partof my mind told me was due to the mesh contracting as the weight shifted on herstructure.

“Oh, God, yes, Rod!” she panted. “Squeeze my big fake tits!”

They did feel fake; like warm flesh-colored water balloons, and herhard rubbery nipples were the exact consistency of pencil erasers. It was my birthday, and I had received,or given myself, the world’s first living latex love doll!

“Oh, R-Rod,” she moaned, pulling away from me, her voice tremulous,“please fuck me! I need your dickin me now!”

She was crying, but her tears were not born of sadness, or even joy,but rather of a beatific ecstasy, and I knelt there, transfixed, watching asher tears slid down her shining cheeks like drops of water down a showertile. I picked her up off thegarage floor, her long legs wrapping themselves around my waist. I began lumbering toward the door intothe house, so that I could throw her onto the bed and do things to her bodythat were probably illegal in Amsterdam, but Yvette’s voice sang out, her tonedesperate. “Roddy, I can’twait! Fuck me in here!  Fuck me now!”

Considering all that she had done for me this morning, I figured itwould be the least I could do. I quicklyturned and laid my rubberized bride on the back end of my bitchin’ wheels, ontomy Justine. I shucked my pants tothe floor and lost no time in shoving my raging prick into her, moaning loudlyas her hot cunt swallowed my length whole. Though her body felt fake, her pussy felt all too real, andI dimly noted as I repeatedly rammed my dick into her, that her body didn’tslide or move up and down at all, her latex skin gripping the trunk of my carlike a surgical glove.

I held off as long as I could, which wasn’t very, but what I lackedin porn star control I made up for in exuberance, pistoning in and out of mysweet ‘vette’s thoroughly lubricated cunt so fervently I thought we mightspontaneously combust.

When it was over I lay in her embrace, my left hand stroking hersmooth rear end, my breathing just barely below the level at which paramedicswill slap an oxygen mask on you. “Are…you…okay…‘vette?” I managed to gasp. I was a little worried that I might have hurt her, so savagehad been my thrusts, as well as feeling a little guilty for having treated herso selfishly.

“Are…you…kidding…?” she gasped back, rubbery fingers stroking theback of my neck. “Roddy…look atme. I’m not…okay. I’m…beautiful!

And since I make it a habit never to contradict a woman into whomI’ve just emptied my balls, I kept my dissenting opinion to myself, happilythinking that she’d overshot beautiful by a country mile—she was fuckingboss!

Chapter 2

Rubber Maid

Three hours later found us lying on our bed, my vinyl fucktoy andme. We had fucked in literallyevery room in the house, including the linen closet—twice. Icouldn’t keep my hands off of her, and neither could she.  But now we were finally resting, thefrenetic passion caused by Yvette’s transformation not so much waning, butebbing, due to the biological need to conserve energy or die.

But my birthday present was not terribly interested in resting; theidea of discovering what she had become was of far greater importance. She got up from the bed and stood in frontof her Shaker floor mirror, her image in the glass almost as shiny as thehighly polished cherry frame surrounding it. “What isthis, Roddy?”

I chuckled weakly at her wide-eyed amazement, watching her play withher big rubbery tits. It was thestrangest damn thing, watching her face. When people talk, or listen, their faces crack, flex, and wrinkle. Not so Yvette, as practically all ofher human expressiveness was lost, hidden away behind the flexible mask she nowwore. “It is a failure, my latex ladylove,” I said with a sigh. “It iswhat happens when one forgets to carry the two.”

“Huh?”

“Do you remember, a few months ago, that week when my mood wasdecidedly dim?”

She smiled crookedly. “Ishould hope I do. My jaw was sosore from adjusting your attitude five times a day I thought I’d never be ableto close my mouth again.”

I smiled back, blissfully recalling the selflessly given blowjobs I’dreceived during that awful week. Fuckups in the chem lab are usually no big deal—inschool—but making a mistake in the corporate world can cost you your joband damage your rep for years to come. All that week I was on tenterhooks, wondering if the high mucky-muckswere actually going to adios me over twenty-thousand bucks worth of uselesspolymer, a very real possibility considering the state of the economy andAZ-TECH’s bottom line. Thankfullythey didn’t sack me, but I was told in no uncertain terms that any moredumbshit mistakes would result in me being walked out the front door, verylikely with a few boot prints on my butt for good measure.

She turned back to the mirror, my smile more than enough answer forher. “God, Rod, you are just themost amazing man. Even when youscrew up, you score big time.” Shecontinued fondling her boobs, running her hands up and down her flatbelly. “It’s just so weird. Watch!” She shimmied her shoulders and watched in fascination as herbig boobies came to rest so very much quicker than they used to.  “Why do they do that?” she asked myreflection breathlessly.

I explained how what was on her skin was neither a coating nor apaint, but rather a chemical mesh thirty times denser than panty hose, andcorrespondingly stronger.

“Is that why they feel so light?” She began jumping up and down, watching her breasts as theybounced stiffly. “It feels likeI’m wearing an invisible bra.”

“That’s a pretty apt analogy,” I replied, almost obscenely content,“but it’s more like a full-body corset. Every part of your delicious body is being supported by the mesh: yourbutt, your boobs—”

“But why do I shine so?”

“When heated, the elastomer strands flatten out, providing greatersurface area and creating a shell not unlike chain mail, though not nearly sotough. When light hits the strandsit ricochets everywhere, giving you a luminescent glow.”

“A shell? But what aboutmy skin? Won’t it suffocate? I remember in—”

“Goldfinger?” Iprompted, having expected the question. We both knew the Connery ‘007’s’ backwards and forwards.

“Mm-hm,” she replied, sliding her hands over her glossy hips,reveling in the feeling despite the seriousness of her inquiry. “That girl died—”

“—‘It’s all right so long as you leave a small bare patch atthe base of the spine to allow the skin to breathe,’” I quoted. “Urban myth, Moneypenny. Usmammals don’t breathe through our skin. But how do you feel, bythe way?”

“Like a beach ball with boobs.”

“Seriously, sweetie…” I pressed, but her flippant answer appeared tohave pumped some life back into Little Rod.

“I feel great. A bitwarm, but not uncomfortably so.”

“Good,” I replied, pleased that this experimental finish wasn’t doingany harm to my bitchin’ ‘vette. “Come here, baby. Let melook at you.” She undulated overto me, not out of a desire to fulfill my request, but rather because she likedmoving so much. With everymovement of her unreal body she could feel the mesh sliding ever so slightlyover her skin, a constant reminder her of her newly synthetic state. She stood next to the bed, looking downat me, her wondrous bosom heaving, her perfectly circular nipples reinforcingher artificiality, and I ran my hand up her unnaturally smooth thigh.

“Mmm….” she moaned, biting her lip. “God, Rod, this stuff is such a turn on. You’re going to be a rich man.  You know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, I am a rich man, baby,” I sighed. “I’ve got you.” I pulled her over on top of me so that she lay across my lap, hershining butt in the air. I slid myhands over her glossy fundament, her moans helping Little Rod, trapped as hewas, to attain his full height. Herskin was just so amazing, the rubbery feel to it. But it wasn’t just that. The polymer shell encasing my lovely bride really did givethe illusion that she was made of plastic. Whenever she moved, it constricted or stretched toaccommodate her, without so much as a wrinkle or disturbance.

I grinned to myself as an idea formed. I reached over and opened the drawer of my nightstand, andpulled out the mini flashlight I keep there for emergencies. “Check this out, baby.”  I rolled her onto her side, fightinggiggling as her boobs rolled with her, sagging only very slightly, supported asthey were by the mesh, and shone the light on her flat belly.

She ooh’ed upon seeing the light reflected off of her and onto theheadboard behind me, and this time I actually did giggle as she began playingher fingers in front of the beam, sending shafts of light in all directions,like a living disco ball. “God,that is so cool, Rod,” she whispered in amazement, “but how could this honestlybe considered a failure?”

“I didn’t design it to be fetish wear, my radiant bride. It was supposed to be used on leather,as an agent to help keep it waterproof.”

“And it doesn’t?”

“No, it does—for about three days. Let’s face it, people don’t want to buy a leather protectantto protect their leather protectant.”

“Oh, no, Roddy,” she said with a gasp, getting up onto one elbow, hervoice exhibiting her shock more than her polymer-covered face could, “you meanmy beautiful body is only going to last for three days?”

I chuckled, warmly pleased that my bitchin’ ‘vette was digging thisevery bit as much as I was. “Yup,pretty much. You can extend thelife of your finish, though, with routine maintenance.”

She perked up. “Maintenance?”

“Sure. With proper careyour showroom finish can last for weeks, months even.”

“And you’re going to tell me how, aren’t you, big boy?” she pressed,her voice determined, one delicately arched eyebrow raised as she reachedsmoothly downward and found Little Rod and began lightly caressing him.

“Oh, I suppose I could,” I mock-sighed, “but seeing as it’s mybirthday do I really want to spend it dealing with such mundane matters?”

She gave me a crooked smile, its meaning so obvious that even herpolymer-coated exterior couldn’t conceal it, and began inching her way down mybody, her destination a fait accompli. My cock disappeared between her smooth, scarlet lips without theslightest hesitation, its length completely swallowed on the first downstroke. “Fuck!” I groaned, grasping at thesheets, a little worried that I might rip them to shreds.

“Talk,” she said simply, my glistening dick standing upright againsther cheek, and it struck me a little funny how fake she looked in comparison toit. She rose up a bit and beganlicking the flared head like an ice-cream cone; a move she knew drove mecrazy. “Well…?” she prompted,licking her lips.

“Well,” I grunted, for she had returned to the licking technique,“licking your lips is probably… the worst thing you can do. Saliva…I suspect, hastens thedeterioration…of the polymer.”

She raised her head up off my straining dick, her blue eyeswide. “What, you mean I can’t blowyou?” She looked distressed, asnear as I could tell through her polymer mask, fearful that she would have tomake a choice she would rather not make.

“No, no,” I said, shaking my head, “you can—and better—blow me. It just means you need to add a coat of wax.  Lip gloss will do just fine.”

She bounded quickly up from the bed, my stiff meat audibly slappingmy stomach, and dashed to her dresser, returning scant moments later, heralready glossy lips shining all the more. Little Rod disappeared again, but this time his passage down Yvette’sthroat was greatly eased by the additional coat of wax, so much so that I foundmyself actually ripping up the sheets a bit. As nice as her polymer-coated lips had felt on my cock, andthey surely had felt nice, her freshly-waxed, slippery smooth lips quicklyturned ‘nice’ into mind-shattering ecstasy.

“Mmm…?” she prompted, tacitly reminding me that there was supposed tobe some give and take here.

“Oh, yeah…sorry,” I gasped. “Where were we?”

“Mmm…maintenance,” she hummed, causing my toes to curl up well beyondwhat should be considered healthy.

“Oh, yeah,” I repeated. “Well, for starters, a good washing…every day…will help.”

“Mmm-hmm?” she continued, inviting me to carry on.

“Plus…a good coating of moisturizer will also help. Cocoa butter…something like that.”

“Oh,” she said simply, releasing my crazed dick from her mouth with awet ‘pop’. “You mean like this?” She bounded up again, causing me tomoan in frustration as she went to her bureau and grabbed her bottle of cocoabutter moisturizer. She dispenseda sizable glob of the pleasant-smelling goo into her left hand, whereupon shebegan smearing it all over her already glowing tits. My shining bride returned to our bed, but rather than lieupon it she grabbed me by my hips and turned me sideways so that my legs hungoff of the edge of the bed, my feet upon the floor. She then knelt in the ‘V’ of my thighs and gave my poor,sensitized prick the loving embrace of her rubbery juggs, and began giving it amassage that can only be described as divine multiplied by heavenly.

“Is there anything else, Roddy?” she whispered, gently working mybeleaguered prick into a near-spitting frenzy.

“Not…that I…can think of,” I panted, my balls on the very edge ofgoing thermonuclear.

“Excellent,” she said, her blue eyes gleaming with a mischievouslight. “I love you, Rod.” And with that sweet pronouncement Icame, my climax so violent I thought my balls might actually shoot out throughdick, as well. I fountained myjizz over her shining chest and throat, giving her yet another coating on thisoh-so-fine afternoon.

“Goodness, Roddy,” she giggled, once my impression of Mount Vesuviushad ceased, her lithe plastic arms held up and away from her, “look at me. How am I supposed to keep my showroomfinish if you do a one-man bukkake show all over me?”

“Not to worry…‘vette,” I said, gasping only slightly now that I’drecovered somewhat. “Just give meone minute.” I slid sideways offthe bed, narrowly avoiding smearing some of that shit on me, and made for thebathroom. She was still in thatsame position when I returned half a minute later, and laughed with delight asI sponged my scum from her glistening body as easily as if she’d been fuckingScotchgarded.

___________________________

Though we are both good cooks we ordered in, since neither one of usfelt it would be possible to toast a bagel without burning the house down. Over fettuccine alfredo and garlicbreadsticks Yvette continued quizzing me about my polymer’s properties, and Itold her everything I knew, keeping it in layman’s territory because as brightas she is, chemistry is one of those subjects that normal people should neverdiscuss. This is proved by thefollowing pun: Remember, if you're not part of the solution, you're part ofthe precipitate. With that kind of mindset, it issurprising that anyone in my profession ever gets laid, much less actually managesto procreate.

“Why are my nipples still hard?” she asked, sponging a piece offettuccine off of her left tit—she was still getting used to the polymermesh covering her body and had had to relearn the art of eating, which was partof the reason she was still nude (the other part being that she loved her newbody too much to allow it to be covered up).

“Because they were hard when I sprayed on the polymer. Surface tension is keeping them thatway.”

“And what will cause the most damage to my finish?”

“Salts, alkaline cleaning solutions, and strong acids,” I replied,“but it is the ever-present ones you should worry about, vinegar and lemonjuice, for example. If you wantedto remove the polymer from your body completely, spraying yourself off withwhite vinegar would do it pretty quickly, although you might smell like a saladfor several hours.”

“Is it…harmful?” I hadbeen waiting the longest for this question.

“Not at all, my love,” I answered in my most reassuring tones. “It is one hundred percent inert.  As though you were wearing a full-bodypair of pantyhose.”

She smiled, obviously pleased that there were no risks associated tosomething she so very much enjoyed. “But what do I do if it gets damaged, or starts to deteriorate?”

“Put on more. It takesmultiple coats very well and patches seamlessly. I brought home a liter of the stuff; four times more than weused. And if, and when, it doesbegin to deteriorate, simply let it do so. It’ll peel off like dead skin after a bad sunburn. After that, simply clean off yoursurface and start again.”

“‘Start again…’” she repeated, looking over my shoulder at her imagereflected in the antique sideboard behind me. She had been doing this a lot during the course of ourdinner, consistently checking out her image in the mirror, for which Icertainly could not blame her; I couldn’t take my eyes off of her either. But now she sat across from me,unmoving, examining her reflection in minute detail, and I couldn’t help butthink that if a peeping Tom were looking through our dining room window, he’dthink I was having dinner with a mannequin.

Finally she said, “Roddy, will you excuse me? I’m quite done with dinner.”  She rose from her seat and went intothe kitchen.

“Yvette?” I heard therefrigerator door open and close, and she strode back out into the dining roomand on into the hallway, a bottle of lemon juice in her hand. I got up to follow her, wondering whatwas afoot, when I heard the bathroom door close. She hadn’t seemed upset or anything, but she did seem tohave a most un-Yvette-like determination about her.

“Baby?” I said to the closed door. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine, Roddy,” came her slightly muffled voice. I just want to try something.  Would you mind clearing away dinner?”

I snorted silently. Mostmen might be a little miffed, having to do the dishes on their birthday, but Ifound myself inordinately pleased, wondering what the rest of my Sunday eveningbeheld.

By the time I had cleared everything away, Yvette had vacated thebathroom, and I found a hastily scrawled note taped to the door to the garagetelling me to ‘watch some porn orsomething’. A thoughtfulsuggestion, I had to admit, but truly it was the last thing I needed since Iwas pretty much living a porn movie right now. I opted instead to pop in ‘Die Hard’, even though it wasnowhere near Christmas, and settled down in my recliner to wait for mybride. It was at that point in thefilm where Bruce Willis says ‘fuck’for about the four-hundredth time, that I felt a pair of rubber hands cover myeyes.

“Close your eyes, sweetie,” she said, her voice husky, definitelyturned on.

“All right,” I replied, no less excited than she, anxiously wonderingwhat she might have done in so short a time. “They’re closed.”

Her hands slid away from my face, and I sensed by the shifting oflight that she was moving around to face me, preparing for the grandunveiling. She paused the movieand said, her voice nervous, “Okay, you can open them.”

I did, and counted myself lucky that I was still sitting down. Now I am a good painter, but Yvette canpaint whole frescoes in the time it takes me to open the damn can.  She hadn’t done much, just minortouches, but the combination of them took my breath away.  I got up off my chair (with some difficultyowing to the stiffness in my pants) to examine her more closely.

Her eyebrows, which I had taken such care to avoid when sponging onthe polymer, were gone—shaved off!—so that her forehead was now a completely smooth and unbrokensurface, with thin, high arches painted in their place. Her eyes looked somehow wider, rounder,and using skills gained as a scenic artist and makeup artist she had done sometruly magnificent layering and shading on her eye shadow, stripping away thecotton candy coloring I’d applied and replacing it with a more dramaticelectric teal (was it coincidence? homage? competition?), to which she musthave added powdered mica because they positively sparkled.

She had also added a blush coat to her cheekbones so that they nowlooked incredibly high, much more prominent with the addition of a rose hue,and shadows added underneath brought them out that much more. But more than anything it was her lipsthat literally outshone everything else. She had ditched the scarlet and had applied a deep, saturated orchid; acolor of such purity and intensity that it made you instantly want to sticksomething between them. Theylooked so smooth and plump, and glowed so warmly that one could stare at themfor days, lost in their perfection.

And lastly there were her nipples, still quite erect, stillunnaturally round. They were thesame color as her lips now, though not quite so intense. It was incredible how unreal theylooked, how plastic; the way her breast flesh abruptly shifted color from herunnatural pinkish flesh tone to her artificially orchidaceous areolas withoutany change of texture whatsoever, all the little bumps smoothed out, thuscompleting the illusion that she was wholly synthetic.

She had outdone herself, had outdone me, looking even moreintoxicating than she had in my dream. She had, in less than an hour, transformed herself from an animatedmannequin into a life-sized Barbie doll. I stood there; acutely conscious of my breathing, or rather the lack ofit, of the suffocating silence of the room, and of how our air conditioning wasobviously failing to keep up with the summer heat.

My unblushing bride smiled, obviously pleased by my stunnedexpression, and sidled up to me, placing her imitation hand upon my pulsingmeat. “I was going to ask you whatyou thought, but this,” shesaid lowly, giving Little Rod a squeeze for good measure, ‘tells me all I needto know. God, Rod,” she giggled,“you look as though you’re about to go supernova.”

“You have no idea, baby,” I replied, actually panting, gazing at herreflective cheek, marveling at its smoothness, its permanence.

“Well, let’s cool you off then,” she said, as her hand slid upwardand began unbuckling my belt. Shegot my pants off with only moderate difficulty, the obstruction caused by myrampant prick slowing her down just a bit. When I was naked I pulled her close and looked into herradiant face, her bright blue eyes the only things about her that betrayed herhumanity. I leaned in to kissthose luscious lips—and missed.

“Nuh-uh, big boy,” she teased, turning away and pulling me onward bymy throbbing dick. “It’s a hotnight, and I think we can both do with a swim.”

I laughed lightly, allowing myself to be tugged along by my shortleash out to our patio, raptly watching the shining globes of her ass the wholeway.

I graciously helped her up onto the diving board, the dying rays ofthe Arizona sun reflecting off of her unblemished body, creating a once in alifetime masterpiece. “Oh, God,hold it right there, baby,” I cried, awestruck. “Let me get the camera.” I dashed back through the house, my boner flapping aboutcomically, and grabbed my cell phone. She was still there when I returned, waiting patiently, looking like aflesh-colored statue. I snapped adozen pictures of her in various cheesecake poses, our adobe privacy wallsmaking a splendid backdrop.

“Thank you, my beloved odalisque,” I said, putting the phone on thetile-topped patio table, still marveling in her beauty, “you are free.”

“Gee, thanks, o engorged one,” she said sarcastically, then steppedforward and bounced hard on the edge of the diving board, sending her body highinto the air, the setting sun flashing majestically upon her as she executed aperfect forward pike. She slicedinto the water with a bizarre silence, her streamlined body making just thetiniest splash.

“Roddy!”

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believedit. She had been under the waterfor barely more than a second when she came bobbing back up to the surface, shootingupward completely out of the water like a cork and coming to rest atop thewater, drops sheeting off of her, floating on her back.

“R-Roddy…?” she repeated, her voice quavering. “W-what…?

I couldn’t help it, bursting into raucous laughter as I watched herbob upon the water like a child’s sailboat, her wide eyes expressing her risingpanic. I jumped in and took her bythe hand and floated her to the shallow end of the pool, alternately gigglingand snorting in maniacal glee.

“Roddy…?” she whined, still in shock over her unexpected expulsionfrom the water not to mention the sudden realization that treading water hadjust become a thing of the past.

“Air…bubbles,” I managed to gasp, letting go of her and allowing herto come about. “Air bubbles!”

“Air…?” she repeated dumbly.

“Oh, yes, my buoyant bride,” I replied, grasping her gently by herpretty foot and pushing her away, then grabbing it again just before gettingout of reach and pulling her back to me. “The mesh covers approximately seventy-five percent of your skin; therest is just empty squares, millions of tiny grids in which there are trappedair bubbles, making you, in essence, a fucking personal flotation device!”

She laughed at my crazed exuberance. “Oh, Rod, this is just too much,” she said breathlessly,dipping her hands into the water and pushing them forward like oars, sendingher bobbing body back toward the deep end. “How long will I stay afloat?”

“Let’s test it, shall we?” I dove for her, grasping her slim ankles and pulling her yelping bodyquickly into me, propelling myself forward and sliding on top of her. We lay like that for a full minute, asquiet as the stars that began appearing overhead. She had dropped about another inch or so in the water, theair trapped in the pockets of her pseudo-skin bearing our combined weights.

“Oh m-my God, Rod,” she cried beneath me, holding me tight, her voicetremulous again, euphoric, “this is…so…”

“That it is, my wonderful waterproof woman, that it certainlyis.” Perfectly at home upon mybusty pool toy I kissed her, enjoying the feel of her, and the feeling ofweightlessness she imparted. Supporting my weight was not a problem for her as there was only waterbeneath her, therefore no crushing. I lay upon her for what seemed an endless time, a timeless time. And when I slipped inside her wetness,her pussy seizing upon my intrusive meat and pulling it into her boilingdepths, I felt as though I were lost in a dream, a dream from which I wouldviolently fight to keep from waking.

She cried out as she came, not once, but repeatedly, my every thrusteliciting an ecstatic howl that I’m sure our neighbors probably thought werecoyotes.

And afterwards, as we lay there floating upon the still water, thefull moon reflected in the shining tit next to the one upon which my headrested, I drifted gently off into a sleep more peaceful than any I had everknown.