Auction of an Inflated Slavedoll

 

I had gone to the beach with my girlfriend Sondra on a lovely, warm spring day and we were strolling barefoot along the shoreline when we were captured. We had gone under the wide pier that ran a hundred yards back from the waterline to the street and were enjoying the coolness in the shade. I heard someone behind me on my right say, "Don't move." I started to turn when I felt something touch my right cheek and cold fire flashed through me. The same voice said, "Don't move" again and I stopped dead in my tracks. I could see Sondra and I saw a hand holding a weird luminescent rod touch her cheek and a young man's voice say, "You will do only what is necessary to fulfill my commands." Then the rod touched my cheek and the voice repeated the order.

A plump young man came around us and looked us up and down as he slid his magic rod into a scabbard hanging from his belt. He patted my belly and gently squeezed one of Sondra's breasts. Then he said "Come with me" and led us away from the waterline. Far under the pier we went until we came to a tent that had been set up on the sand. He handed me a brush and told me to brush the sand off my feet and enter the tent and when I had complied he gave the brush and the same order to Sondra.

Inside the tent, with the flap closed, he turned on an electric lantern. He told Sondra to take off all of her clothes and as she complied he took them and put them into a large beach bag. Then he pointed to a small throw rug that had embroidered into it a pattern that looked like an eye with a tear coming from one corner and he told Sondra to stand on the eye. She of course complied.

From his beach bag he took a beret-style shower cap made of transparent-white plastic film and a white rubber headband. The shower cap draped limply in his hand as he gave it to Sondra and told her to put it on. She took it from him and put it over her hair, adjusting it to a perfect fit and tucking loose strands of hair under the headband. The shag style of her blonde hair puffed out the shower cap and the wet-skin sheen on the plastic made it look like a halo on an angel.

I was mesmerized by the sight of my girlfriend standing naked and my gaze wandered over her body, especially her well-formed B-cup breasts. She stood unselfconsciously, apparently oblivious to the fact the she was being examined by two men.

Ignoring me, our captor took from the scabbard on his belt a rod that looked a little like an inch-thick, foot-long dildo. It had vein-like patterns running over its surface in a network and it seemed to glow and sparkle with pink light. Wielding the rod like a sorcerer's wand, he told Sondra to come sexually aroused and to puff out her belly and give him a little moan just before she climaxed.

Sondra began breathing heavily and then panting. Soon she took a deep breath, puffed out her belly, and moaned. Our captor touched the tip of his rod to the side of her neck, just below and behind her left ear, and she went somewhat blurry and snapped back into focus with a whump.

She didn't seem any different. Then I noticed that she was no longer breathing. I also saw, where the rod had touched her, a short tube made of transparent milky-white plastic, like the valve used for blowing up inflatable toys. Our captor touched her then and I saw her wobble as lightly as an inflated plastic pushover doll. Putting his rod into its scabbard, our captor took from his beach bag a short straw that had a flange around its middle and pushed it into the tube in Sondra's neck. I heard a soft blowing sound and Sondra bent over at the waist and collapsed as she deflated.

Soon our captor rolled Sondra up and put her into his beach bag. Then it was my turn to be plastified.

He ordered me to take off all of my clothes and helplessly I obeyed. Then he commanded me to stand on the teary-eye pattern and, again, I obeyed, though I didn't want to. He handed me a shower cap made of transparent-azure plastic that had thumbnail-sized fleurs-de-lys printed on it in a tiara pattern and told me to put it on. Helplessly I obeyed and tucked my hair up under my new Queen of France shower cap. As he did with Sondra, he told me to come sexually aroused and held his rod up near the left side of my neck. When I was just ready to climax I took a deep breath, puffed out my belly, and gave him a little moan.

I felt his rod touch my neck and something seemed to explode within me. I heard a loud whump and my mind cleared. I was amazed that I was still alive and I assumed that the transformation had failed. I tried to grab my captor and found that I couldn't move. My captor gave me a quick jab in the belly and I bounced off his fist as lightly as a beach ball. I tipped over backward and then bounced back up as if begging to be punched again. He had, if fact, turned me into an inflated plastic doll.

Then he pushed the flanged straw into my valve and I heard air blowing out of me. I became drowsy, very sleepy, and then passed into unconsciousness.

I regained consciousness slowly. I became aware of someone holding my biceps and I felt lips on the side of my neck. I heard a rhythmic whooshing and I thought that I must be dreaming, because I felt air blowing into me. I felt like an air mattress being blown up.

I saw quickly that it wasn't a dream. My captor had reinflated me. And he had done so in the living room of his house. Several other people were present, a man and a woman and a teen-aged girl. I also saw Sondra, standing with her head bowed, wearing her transparent-white plastic raincoat. I saw my own transparent-blue plastic raincoat draped over a nearby chair and figured that our captor had visited our apartments to retrieve our raincoats as he brought us home in his beach bag.

Seeing Sondra standing naked and wearing only her raincoat made me all too aware of my sexual arousal. The sight of her well-formed B-cup breasts bulging against limp, skin-smooth plastic only heated up my lust further. I was also intensely aware of my own nakedness and sexual arousal, the more so because everyone was staring at me.

From the conversation among them I inferred that our captor's name was Pudge, that the man and woman were Mumbo and Plassie, and that the teen-aged girl, their daughter, was Lucinda. Apparently they were slave traders, dealing in people who had been turned into inflatable plastic dolls. And now they were going to test me.

They compelled me to put on a hostess apron made of transparent-azure plastic that had a fleur-de-lys the size of my hand printed in gold across the ruffled skirt. The skirt wrapped halfway around my waist and hung halfway down my calves. I felt soft, skin-smooth plastic warmly caress my legs. Pudge then told me to stand on the teary-eye pattern on the carpet and when I complied, he stepped on the tear and I felt the rubbery force swell up around me and hold me helpless.

With no hesitation he punched me in the belly. I bounced as lightly as a beach ball off his fist and fell backward almost to the floor. It only took a heartbeat for me to go from being punched to bouncing back up to be punched again. My inflated body emitted a bap-bap-bap of soft rubbery thumps as he punched me over and over again and my apron swished.

With each punch the apron stroked my penis and masturbated me toward climax. I tried desperately to stop what was coming, but I was helpless. I climaxed long and hard into the apron, bucking and writhing as I bounced for my captors' amusement.

"Well, it looks like he's enjoying himself," Mumbo said.

After several minutes Pudge, panting from exertion, stopped punching me and stepped on the tear to free me from the holding spot. Lucinda gave me my raincoat and told me to put it on over my hostess apron. I complied and then Plassie put a big, fat plastic kitchen apron on me. Made of silk-soft, skin-smooth, transparent-white plastic, its skirt hung almost to my ankles. It had an inch-wide halterneck that spread the bib over my chest and belly. The inch-wide ties went all the way around my body and Plassie tied them in a neat bow in front of me. A gay, bubbly array of pink, yellow, and pale-blue polka dots had been printed on the plastic and across the top of the skirt, in big blue letters, the words "Plastic Prisoner" had been printed.

Lucinda put an identical "Plastic Prisoner" apron on Sondra and then she and Pudge escorted us out of the parlor and led us upstairs. We came along the railing over the stairwell to a pair of bedrooms at the front of the house. The one on the right was Lucinda's and Sondra was taken into it. Pudge took me into the bedroom on the left. There he put me on a holding spot in the middle of the narrow room. He took my "Plastic Prisoner" apron off me and tossed it onto one of the chairs by the window, then he took my raincoat off me and tossed it onto the chair as well.

Clouds had come in during the afternoon and rain had begun to fall. I heard the spatter and splash of water falling off the roof and coming out of the gutters and I heard the soft slish of cars rolling on the wet street out front.

Pudge left the room to go take a shower and I heard rubbery thumps coming from the other bedroom: Lucinda was using Sondra for a punching bag. About fifteen minutes later Pudge came back wearing only his underpants. He bopped me for a few minutes. The sight of his half-naked body got to me and my climax when it came was extra intense. I felt myself ejaculating extra hard spurts of nothing as I bounced for him and my apron stroked me. Once he saw me bucking and squirming he pounded me for a minute longer and then stopped.

As rain fell outside, he sat and read a slick magazine titled "Punching Bags". From what little I could see I inferred that the magazine was devoted to some kind of boxing pornography. I also saw that he was occasionally rubbing the front of his shorts. After about half an hour he set the magazine aside and got up to go to bed.

He started by confronting me. "Now my plastic prisoner," he whispered. He embraced me and I felt his penis pressed erect against the top of my right thigh. "Now I get to play with you in bed... my big, fat, plastic air mistress."

He stepped on the tear to free me from the holding spot and pushed me into his bed. He pulled down his underpants and stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor. Then he got into bed, slid the skirt of my apron up to midthigh, and then embraced me. "Oh, you're so big and fat," he whispered as he mounted me. "So soft and warm. So weak and helpless."

I felt his erect penis slide between my buttocks and penetrate me and I felt my own arousal intensify in response. He slid his arms around me and embraced me, then he began to rock to and fro, pulling his penis partway out of me and then pushing it back in. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, he bounced on me. Suddenly I felt something hot blossom inside me in long, hard spurts and I climaxed, my penis throbbing until the spurts tapered off and he went limp on me.

He played with me again in the morning, then got up and put me back on the holding spot. He put my raincoat and "Plastic Prisoner" apron on me so that I wouldn't get cold, then he dressed himself and left for the day.

With nothing better to do, I struggled to get myself off the holding spot. I couldn't push through the forcefield, however hard I tried, so I tried to finesse the solution. I slid my right foot sideways, heel-toe-heel-toe and so on. Slowly my foot moved onto the teardrop and abruptly the force holding me vanished. No matter how hard I tried, though, I could not open the door and get out of Pudge's room. Frustrated, I sat down in Pudge's chair and read his magazines. One story that I read bore the title "The Best Sparring Partner".

-o-0-o-

The arena was packed and loud with crowd noise. The people had come to watch a match between two female boxers - the ranking champion, raven-haired Karen Blaine, and her challenger, blond Lucy Drake. Others had challenged Karen and had been easily defeated. Those challengers had disappeared into what the fans thought of as well-deserved obscurity. The fans weren't really there to watch a fight: they had come to watch Karen use her opponent as a punching bag in a brisk ten-round workout.

The boxers sat on their stools in their respective corners as the referee stood in the center of the ring, pulled down the overhead microphone, and introduced them to the crowd. Lucy, in her yellow satin boxing trunks and breast guard, was introduced first and got mostly polite applause from the crowd with a few boos thrown in. Clarissa Baguehotte, Lucy's trainer, told Lucy not to let the crowd get to her. Karen, in black satin trunks and breast guard, got an enthusiastic ovation. As Lucy stared at her, she got a faint impression that the sheen of the satin of Karen's garments included a weird shimmer. Lucy shook her head to get her thinking back to the matter at hand, beating the crap out of Karen.

The clang of the bell launched both women out of their corners. Lucy probed Karen's defenses with a series of jabs and one-two combinations. None of her blows got through, but Karen landed a couple of punches, indicating that Lucy's defenses were not what they should be. Lucy seemed to be having trouble concentrating.

She tried, certainly. She gave the fight her best effort, but round after round found her making no progress against Karen. On the other hand, Karen was having the fight all her way. By the fifth round Lucy was playing only defense and Karen was on the attack.

By the end of the tenth round Lucy was little more than a punching bag for Karen. Although she put on a good show, Karen wasn't really trying for a KO; she was just toying with Lucy. When the final bell rang it was clear that Karen had won the fight. The judges made it official and the referee announced that Karen Blaine was, indeed, the winner.

After congratulating Karen, Lucy went back to her corner and saw that Clarissa had already left. She climbed out of the ring and brushed past one of the girls who served as a ring attendant. Then she felt something touch her on her bare back. A kind of shock went through her and a voice said, "You will do only what's necessary to fulfill my commands!" To her horror, Lucy knew that she would obey that instruction.

The girl accompanied her as she made her way to the changing room. Lucy tried to analyze what was happening to her, but she couldn't discern any obvious change in her. She had simply become completely subservient to the girl she was with. In the changing room, with the door closed, the girl told Lucy to get undressed and take a shower. Lucy stripped herself, as she would have done anyway, and prepared to bathe.

From her gym bag she took her Pert and Pretty™ Springtime Sunshine shower cap, a simple beret made of transparent-yellow plastic with a yellow rubber headband. Thumbnail-sized dark-blue line drawings of butterflies were printed on the limp, skin-smooth plastic in a tiara pattern. She pulled the cap over her hair, tucked a few stray strands of hair under the headband, and gave her head a light shake to settle her hair in place under the plastic. Then she went to the shower room to bathe.

She went into the shower and saw Clarissa, wearing only her Pert and Pretty™ Roman Goddess shower cap over her brunette shag, just coming out. Transparent-white plastic, with its white rubber headband, framed her face like a halo and the red-and-green line drawings of poppies in a wreath pattern resembled a divine crown. Clarissa seemed dazed as she came out of the shower and accepted a towel from one of the ring attendants.

Lucy stepped into the shower stall, closed the plastic curtain, and turned on the water. As she soaped herself she heard a loud thump and then, sporadically, soft rubbery thumps. When she finished bathing she turned off the water, stepped out of the shower stall, and found a towel waiting for her.

Rubbing the towel over her body, Lucy walked out of the shower room and into a bizarre scene. Still wearing her shower cap, Clarissa had not put on her clothes. Instead, she was allowing the ring attendants to do something strange and disturbing.

One of the ring attendants stood behind Clarissa and held her by her biceps while the other girl punched Clarissa in the belly. The punch resulted in a soft rubbery thump. The girls were playing with Clarissa like a toy. But it didn't look like they were hurting Clarissa; indeed, Clarissa's face showed only a frozen look of lust and desire mingled with a tinge of despair. As Lucy dried herself she discerned that there was something strange about Clarissa.

Then the girls noticed her. The one who had been punching Clarissa picked up from a nearby counter what looked like a drinking straw with a flange around its middle. Clarissa struggled as the girl put the straw up to the left side of her neck and pushed it into the stubby, milky-white tube that protruded there. Clarissa went limp and collapsed in the other girl's grip. To her horror Lucy understood that these girls had somehow turned Clarissa into a living blow-up doll and now they were deflating her. She tossed her towel into the laundry hamper as the girls laid Clarissa on the massage table to finish deflating.

One of the girls confronted Lucy. She sauntered around Lucy, making suggestive remarks and commanding Lucy to come sexually aroused. Lucy couldn't help herself: she felt herself getting hot. Her clitoris swelled up and slid forward to poke its tip out of its sheath. Her nipples swelled and stiffened. Her breathing deepened and became more rapid.

Meanwhile the other girl had gone to the counter and removed something from a long box. She came to stand before Lucy and held the object up for Lucy to see. It looked like a dildo made of transparent ivory veined with threads of flowing pink light. The girl moved its tip toward the left side of Lucy's neck.

"Now, dear sweet Lucy," the girl said, "it's time for you to receive your second-place prize. Enjoy yourself, Dolly!" She reached out and touched the tip of the rod to the side of Lucy's neck about an inch below her left ear.

Lucy felt a powerful jolt within her as a loud thump reverberated in the changing room. She felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her and then her mind cleared as she felt intense sexual pleasure spread rapidly through her entire body. She felt a sense of lightness, as if her body was nothing more than an air-filled balloon. Then she felt someone behind her grab her biceps with an unbreakable grip.

The girl who had changed her put the rod back in its box, closed the box, and locked it. Then she came back and punched Lucy in the belly. The punch didn't hurt, though Lucy felt the impact throughout her body. Then the girl picked up the flanged straw and put it into the valve on Lucy's neck. Lucy struggled but to no avail. She felt the straw go into her, resist slightly, then go all the way into the valve. Lucy heard a soft "p'whhhh" and felt weak.

"I'm deflating!" Lucy thought in horror. "They've turned me into a blow-up doll and they're letting the air out of me!" That was her last thought before she fell unconscious, slumping to the floor and going flat.

Consciousness returned slowly. Little by little the lights came on in Lucy's mind. She first became aware of the sensation of soft, smooth plastic rubbing warm against her bare skin. Then she discerned that she was being held from behind by someone who had their left arm wrapped around her chest and their right hand on the right side of her neck. She felt remarkably limp. Vision returned and she saw that she was wearing her own transparent-yellow plastic raincoat.

She felt lips on the left side of her neck, but the sensation was strange. It didn't feel like her neck was being kissed so much as it felt like the lips were gripping some protrusion, like a nipple. Further, she felt air flowing through that protrusion and into her body. In slow, steady pulses air flowed into her. She was being reinflated. She marveled at that thought. She was an inflatable plastic doll and someone was blowing her up!

With someone panting into her left ear, Lucy saw that she was in that someone's plush bedroom. She saw the double bed with a pink satin cover on it. On the opposite side of the room stood a two-person settee upholstered in pink velvet and the floor was covered in pink shag carpet. She saw a woman's dressing table and then something more disturbing caught her attention.

She saw pretty, red-haired, freckle-faced Darcy Thammon, the challenger who had faced Karen a month earlier and had then disappeared. Completely naked except for her clear plastic shower cap with its printed-on images of violets, she appeared to have her hands tied behind her back. She was standing with her legs inside a clear plastic skirt that was welded to an ovoid base on which her feet rested. On closer inspection, Lucy saw that the skirt was double-walled and inflated: it held Darcy trapped. It also made Darcy a big, bouncy punching bag.

The person who had reinflated her let her go and came around her to stand in front of her and look her over. It was Karen Blaine. She had her hair tucked up into her shower cap, a simple beret made of transparent light-gray plastic with a light-gray rubber headband. The image of a laurel wreath was printed on the plastic in green. Over a cream-white satin half slip and camisole Karen wore her raincoat, essentially a long-sleeved, full-skirted dress made of limp-soft, skin-smooth, transparent-white plastic that had pink tiger stripes printed on it.

Lucy became intensely aware of her breasts bulging against warm plastic. She felt aroused, the more so because of Karen's raincoat. It's limp softness combined with its waxy sheen and transparency made it seem warm: it was an illusion, of course, but she seemed to feel the plastic radiating Karen's body heat.

"Ah, my warm plastic prisoner!" Karen said. "You and I will be going a few extra rounds tonight, my dear," she added, her voice trembling with excitement. And that's where the story ended.

-o-0-o-

Well before Pudge got home I set the magazines aside and got up from his chair. I stood on the holding spot, facing the door, as I had before, and I slid my right foot onto the teardrop. Suddenly the rubbery force rose up, shoved my foot onto the spot, and held me rigidly upright, ready to be Pudge's punching bag again.

Several days after our capture Sondra and I were taken to the parlor. About a dozen people were there in addition to our captors. There was clearly a party in progress and Sondra and I were apparently meant to serve as some kind of party favor. One couple had brought a small Tupperware™ bin and the other guests seemed to take a great interest in it. They opened the Tupperware™ container and took out a rolled up toy made of skin-tone plastic. The woman unrolled it and began to inflate it. I saw that it was another victim of the plastifying process, a plastic slavedoll like me. Once he was fully inflated they put his apron on him, a calf-length hostess apron made of transparent-green plastic with gold floral patterns printed on it.

I was told by Pudge that I was to engage the other prisoner in a kiss fight for the amusement of the party guests. It was a variation on sumo, in which we wore only our plastic hostess aprons. My objective was to get my opponent down on his back and kiss him and his objective was to do the same to me.

Urged on by our captors, we went at each other and quickly discovered that we were fairly evenly matched. For several hours, with swishing aprons, we entertained the party's guests, neither gaining an advantage over the other. By the end of the party he had won by only two kisses.

During my sumo bout I had noticed some of the guests, one at a time, leading Sondra out of the parlor. I inferred from hearing several guests refer to her as jizzbait that the guests were being allowed to play with her in the guest bedroom at the rear of the house. After the party I could see that her belly bulged slightly, as if she were getting fat. Then Lucinda, with two friends, took her away.

As the party broke up and my sumo opponent was deflated and put back into his container, Pudge took me back to his room. When I came to the top of the stairs I saw that the door to Lucinda's room was open and I saw that Lucinda and her two friends were playing with Sondra, using her for a punching bag.

Several weeks later I got a new shock. It started when I felt like I had to defecate. I needed to use the toilet, but I was standing on the holding spot in Pudge's room and couldn't move. I tried to hold it in until Pudge came back and, I hoped, took me off the spot. I couldn't do it and I felt something start to slide out of me. At the same time I began to enjoy one of the hottest sexual climaxes that had ever come to me. Bit by bit something smooth came out of me and I couldn't stop throbbing with delight. Then whatever it was dropped out of me completely and the climax stopped.

When Pudge came back he noticed something on the floor behind me. He picked it up and shook it out. I saw that it was a perfect copy of my hostess apron. I had given birth to a copy of my Queen of France apron. It didn't take long for Pudge to figure out what happened. "You can get pregnant!" he gloated. He ran his hands over me and said, "Oh, you've gotta give me a raincoat! And I know just the one I want!"

He waited until he was going to be alone in the house for several hours. He started by stripping me completely naked and setting me on the holding spot. He left the room for several minutes and when he came back he was carrying Sondra's raincoat. The sensation of him putting Sondra's raincoat on me thrilled me and horrified me at the same time. He pulled the hood up over my shower cap and freed me from the holding spot. Then he told me that it was time for some foreplay.

He took me downstairs to watch television with him while he made out with me. The program he chose wasn't on any channel that I had ever seen. He chose a show that showed cartoons and I could see that they were bizarre cartoons. Clearly a gang of rogue animators were creating the animated equivalents of the infamous Tijuana bibles. In this case it was a Popeye cartoon.

-o-0-o-

The cartoon was titled "Bluto's Blow-up". It started with an outside view of a sports arena and went inside where two boxers are meeting in the ring. One is Bluto and the other is Popeye. The two men are mixing it up well and Bluto lands a punch that puts Popeye on the mat. Kneeling down, Bluto puts his lips on Popeye's as if to give artificial respiration, but instead he blows air into the hapless sailor and keeps on blowing. Popeye blows up like a plastic doll and then when Bluto releases him he bounces upright like an inflated punching bag. Standing rigidly at attention, he is helpless when Bluto gets up and begins bopping him, making him bounce up and down rapidly for the amusement of the audience. After a few minutes of this play Bluto gives Popeye a punch in the belly that knocks the air out of him. The sailor collapses unconscious onto the mat and Bluto is declared the winner.

In the aftermath of the fight two attendants take Popeye to a dressing room. There they tie him up and then smuggle him into the trunk of Bluto's car. When Bluto gets home he takes the still-unconscious sailor into the house and lays him on the sofa in the living room. He removes Popeye's shoes and boxing trunks and then kneels next to the completely naked sailor. Popeye is just beginning to regain consciousness, so Bluto quickly unties him and then re-inflates him. Again Popeye becomes a punching bag, this time displaying a prominent erection.

Bluto picks up his toy and tosses him lightly into the middle of the room. He then confronts him and punches him repeatedly, filling the room with a bap-bap-bap of soft rubbery thumps. Perfectly helpless, Popeye bounces gaily for his captor. For an hour Bluto plays with Popeye, pausing to rest between rounds of what is essentially a ten-round workout.

Panting from his exertion, Bluto picks Popeye up, carries him into his bedroom, and sets him on the floor at the foot of his double bed. There Bluto puts an ankle-length woman's raincape on Popeye and pulls up the pixie-style hood. Made of soft, smooth transparent-white plastic with a squarish pattern of black lollidots and pindots printed on it, it makes Popeye look even more like an inflated plastic punching bag. Bluto punches Popeye some more then allows the sailor to bounce upright and stop moving. Popeye can then only watch in horror as Bluto takes off all of his clothes and puts a condom on his huge erect penis.

Bluto embraces Popeye and lifts him onto the bed. He pushes the sailor down and gets on top of him. Then he masturbates himself to climax by rubbing himself on his prisoner. Popeye also climaxes, blowing air from his penis in spurts. Bluto then kisses Popeye and blows more air into him to keep him taut.

"You're going to have to be fatter than this before I can make your change permanent," Bluto says. "I want you to be comfortable for me to lay on."

For several days Bluto enjoys a kind of honeymoon with Popeye, playing with him as a punching bag and a masturbating toy, then he takes the raincape off him and punches the air out of him. Quickly Bluto injects a drug into Popeye to keep him docile and then puts him into a cage in his kitchen. Over the next couple of weeks he fattens up his prisoner and every couple of days he inflates him and plays with him while testing him.

Then one day Bluto declares the Popeye is ready for his permanent. The fat sailor, wearing only a transparent-white plastic shower cap, stands inflated and helpless in Bluto's bedroom. He can only wait for Bluto to get ready to play with him again.

Finally Popeye's time comes. Bluto picks him up, lays him down on the bed, and then mounts him and penetrates him. Quickly he pumps himself to climax, squirting semen into his prisoner and thereby making his transformation permanent. Now when Bluto punches the air out of him, he will simply deflate and stay deflated until Bluto blows him up again.

"My soft plastic punching bag forever," Bluto gloats. And that's where the story ended.

-o-0-o-

Pudge took me back to his room and I could tell that he could barely contain himself. He wasted no time in laying me down on his bed and sliding the skirt of Sondra's raincoat above my hips. He undressed himself quickly, then got on top of me and penetrated me. Now he slowed down. I had been hoping that he would make quick work of impregnating me, but he took his time about it. He kept writhing on me and pumping his penis in and out of me, spending several long minutes playing with me or, more precisely, playing with Sondra's raincoat. Eventually, though, I felt something hot blossom deep inside me in long, hard spurts and as I climaxed in response I knew that I was pregnant again.

Several weeks later I was standing on the holding spot in Pudge's bedroom and, as far as I could tell, I was alone in the house, except for Sondra, who was presumably standing on the holding spot in Lucinda's bedroom. But then the door opened and Mumbo, wearing a bathrobe, came in. "Now you're my plastic prisoner," he gloated as he approached me. He put his left arm around my shoulders and patted and stroked my belly with his right hand. "My pregnant plastic prisoner." He took me in a full embrace and hugged me. I felt his erect penis pressing against my right thigh. "I'm going to test you as a fucking bag."

He took me off the holding spot and escorted me to his bedroom. The door closed with a click and he put his arms around me and ran his hands over my belly. I felt his huge penis pressed against my buttocks as he played with me. Slowly he undressed me, untying my "Plastic Prisoner" apron, taking it off me, and laying it on a chair. Then he took off my raincoat and laid it on the chair. Finally he untied my "Queen of France" underapron and put it on the chair, too.

He picked me up and laid me face down on the big double bed. I heard his bathrobe hit the floor and then felt the bed move as he crawled onto it. He pushed his knees between mine and then came down on me and penetrated me. The penetration didn't hurt, though I certainly felt it: apparently I could stretch like rubber for him. His weight pressed me into the bed and I felt his heat seeping into me. He began to move, thrusting his penis in and out of me. Soon he was huffing and puffing and bouncing on me like some insane rubber steam engine. Suddenly I felt something hot blossoming inside me in long, hard spurts that quickly tapered off to nothing.

He lay on me for several long minutes as he caught his breath. When he got up off me, he put on his bathrobe and told me to get dressed. Once I had put on my raincoat and aprons, he took me back to Pudge's room and put me back on the holding spot. He gave me a gentle jab in the belly and said, "Pregnant!", then, giggling to himself, he left.

Even with more or less continuous attention from Mumbo and Pudge, it took over a month to bring my pregnancy to term. My belly swelled up until I looked like I had swallowed a volleyball. I spent hours just stroking the bulge and masturbating.

Then came the day when I gave birth to a raincoat. Plassie was in the kitchen, as usual. Other than her, Sondra and I were alone in the house, standing on our holding spots. As before, it started when I felt like I had to defecate. This time I got myself off the holding spot and lay myself down on Pudge's bed. I felt the raincoat start to slide out of me and soon saw that it was coming out hood first. At the same time I began to enjoy a sexual climax even hotter than the one I had enjoyed when I had an apron. Bit by bit smooth plastic came out of me and I couldn't stop throbbing with delight. I stroked my belly and masturbated with my underapron. It took an hour before the raincoat dropped out of me completely and the climax stopped. I had made a copy of Sondra's raincoat.

Then the fateful day came when Sondra and I were brought out into the living room. We saw two large Tupperware™ containers lying open on the coffee table and Sondra turned and pressed herself against me. I hugged her, knowing that there was nothing I could do to save us. We were still embracing each other when Pudge and Lucinda pushed the deflators into our valves and we lost consciousness.

I regained consciousness in what looked like a hotel room. I saw that Sondra had already been reinflated. Wearing her underapron and her raincoat, she was sitting in a chair. I was being blown up by someone holding me from behind, someone wearing a soft, smooth plastic apron. When I had been blown full that someone set me on my feet and turned me around.

She was a plump, middle-aged woman wearing a black dress and a big, fat, ruffle-skirted full apron made of transparent-black plastic. Printed on the skirt of the apron was a foot-wide image of a butterfly with wings of flame and emblazoned on the bib stood a golden circle inscribed inside an equilateral triangle inscribed in a six-inch-wide circle, the alchemists' symbol of transmutation. The woman needed only the broad-brimmed conical black hat to look like the stereotypical witch. She pointed to a chair where my "clothes" lay and told me to put on all but my "Plastic Prisoner" apron.

I put on my "Queen of France" underapron and then put on my raincoat. Sondra and I were then given new aprons to put on. I wore an apron that said "Hers" and she wore an apron that said "His". Except for the lettering, they were exactly like our "Plastic Prisoner" aprons. Clearly we were going to be sold as a set. It was actually a relief to know that Sondra and I were not going to be separated.

The witch gave us rubber sandals to put on and then she shackled us. The shackles consisted of a pair of plastic fetters connected by an inch-wide, doubled-plastic ribbon three feet long. The fetters, one binding my wrists and the other binding my ankles, were inch-wide, doubled-plastic ribbons two feet long with paired ribbons at their ends. The paired ribbons, wrapped around our wrists and ankles, adhered to themselves like the magnetic patches on our raincoats, but these were too strong for us to open. Thus bound, we were nudged out of the room by the witch.

Restrained by the shackles and prodded by the witch, we shuffled down the hall to the elevator. The ankle-length skirts of our raincoats and aprons swished and swirled around our legs as we walked and the soft, smooth plastic only made us more self-conscious about our sexual arousal. After riding the elevator down several floors, we came out into another hall and shuffled toward a door at its end. I heard voices growing louder and trembled at the prospect of further humiliation. Then the witch took us through the door and my horror only deepened at what I saw.

The hotel's ballroom had been turned into an auction ring. Almost a dozen girls and almost as many men, in their shower caps, raincoats, aprons, and shackles, were standing on raised blocks in front of an audience. We were led to a pair of empty blocks and lifted onto them.

We were the last entry to be brought in, so the auction began almost as soon as we set our feet on the auction block. As each prisoner was sold, an assistant took a leash, made of doubled-plastic ribbon, fastened it around their neck with magnetic patches, and led them to their new owner.

As we stood on the block the auctioneer introduced us by calling out, "And now we have the Queen of France and his devoted serving girl." I felt dizzy and intensely self-conscious, both for me and for Sondra, so I was only vaguely aware of the auctioneer calling the auction chant.

"Now what am I bid for this pair?" he called. "Do I hear one thousand? One thousand. One thousand. Hibbity hibbity." I felt lost, barely noticed the auctioneer describing us for the crowd. "C'mon folks! Who wants to let the air out of these two?" Finally, after what seemed like hours, I heard, "Hibbity hibbity, going once, hibbity hibbity, going twice, bippity boppity boom! Sold!" Then two assistants put leashes on us and towed us to meet our new owners.

It was a young couple who took possession of us and led us to a small room off the main hall. There we again confronted the witch. She was standing behind a low table with a rubber pad on it and we were made to kneel on a bench in front of the table after our new owners took the leashes, shackles, and sandals off us and gave them to an attendant. I noticed that our Tupperware™ bins were lying open on either side of the table. The witch then completed the transfer of ownership.

It was a parody of the wedding ceremony, conducted with two plastic brides. "Do you, Bugando and Janda Bonibu, take these plastic prisoners to be your personal slaves, to have and to hold, to possess and to use, for your own pleasure's sake, forever and always?" the witch asked. Bugando and Janda said, "I do." At the witch's urging they pulled down the hoods of our raincoats, thereby exposing our valves. "You may deflate your slaves!" the witch proclaimed.

Again, deflating straws were pushed into our valves. Warm air rushed out of us and we collapsed onto the pad. I lost consciousness as I bent forward at the waist, as if bowing to the witch.

Our new owners reinflated us in the sitting room of their large ranch-style house. I was sitting on Janda's lap, tilting to my right so that she could reach my valve more conveniently. She was blowing me up slowly, trying not to hyperventilate. When she had me blown full she hugged me and watched Bugando finish blowing up Sondra.

We had been reinflated naked, so we had to retrieve our underaprons and raincoats from our bins and put them on. Bugando and Janda were wearing our "His" and "Hers" aprons, so we had to put on our "Plastic Prisoner" aprons. I saw a holding spot in the middle of the room, but neither of us was put on it: the Bonibus didn't seem interested in using us as punching bags. In the mornings they would use us as such in their workout routines, but for now they seemed more interested in showing affection for us.

At night our owners used us as body pillows. I wasn't happy with the fact that another man was lying on Sondra and playing with her, but I was glad that I had a pretty young woman lying on me and playing with me in bed. And Sondra and I still got to play with each other during the day, which wasn't all bad because Sondra was hot all the time. We were treated more like pets than as slaves. Indeed, except for the sex, we weren't treated much differently from the way dogs are treated. So I suppose I could say that we lived more-or-less happily ever after.

-o-End-o-

The Popeye cartoon was inspired by a scene in "Out to Punch" (1956), in which scene Popeye stands in a boxing ring with his feet encased in blocks of cement. As Bluto bops him the hapless sailor bounces like an inflated punching bag, going to the mat and bouncing back up every half second. There was a similar scene in "Punch and Judo" (1951). Both cartoons may be seen on YouTube.

Commentary

We read stories to participate vicariously in the adventures of the characters, using our imaginations to experience what they go through and to feel what they feel in response. We might read a James Bond story in order to feel the anxiety and the excitement of being a secret agent in the Cold War era. A war story helps us to feel the fear and subsequent relief felt by a soldier in battle. In that ability to arouse our emotions stories fulfill a psychological need. But what is that need? When we read a story, or when we watch television or a movie, we participate vicariously in the actions of the characters. We merge in unconscious communion with both villain and victim. In these stories neither villain nor victim experiences rejection anxiety.

The stories on this site constitute examples of what we could reasonably call pornographic horror. They are meant to titillate and also horrify their readers. That's a strange combination and we may well ask what psychological purpose it serves.

Horror, properly understood, is our reaction to the triumph of evil. We define evil as anything that diminishes a person and, certainly, turning people into inflated plastic dolls diminishes them. As an excellent example of pure horror, think of "The Stepford Wives", in which the men of a small town have their wives replaced by subservient robot look-alikes. So these stories certainly qualify as examples of horror.

Pornography appeals to lust. It is intended to provide a sexual arousal, possibly leading to masturbation. The desire to obtain such an arousal can originate in chemical states of the body or in perceptions that trigger the forging of a chain of associations. Viewing the 1945 Popeye cartoon "Pop-Pie A La Mode", for example, led me to a fantasy of a character enslaved as an inflated plastic doll in a tropical paradise (Message in a Bottle).

Anyone who has read even a few of these stories knows that the sexual perversion woven into them consists of a fetishist lust for plastic film (in the form of raincoats, aprons, shower caps, and inflatable toys) merged with Bondage and Discipline. We might call that perversion plastiphilia (love of plastic) and it's a neurosis. As a neurosis it consists of a pattern of thought and feeling in which anxiety over the satisfaction of a desire leads the neurotic to displace the desire onto less daunting, more achievable goals.

I have known since early childhood that seeing a woman or a girl wearing a plastic raincoat, a plastic apron, or, to a lesser extent, a plastic shower cap has essentially the same effect on me as would seeing her take off all of her clothes, though it wasn't until I reached puberty that I fully understood that fact: before then I only knew that the sight of plastic made my penis swell up and get hard. I am also extremely shy, susceptible of severe social anxiety, especially concerning intimate relations. As a consequence, I infer, I shifted my libido away from its proper target (women and girls) and onto something associated with them. In the late 1940's raincoats, aprons, and shower caps made of calendared-smooth, 100 micron (4 mil) PVC film were relatively popular and the skin-like sheen and softness made them good alternative targets for my libido. Being sexually attracted to plastic garments associated with women and girls absolved me of the anxiety of rejection, as long as I kept it secret of course (my lust for plastic brought its own rejection anxiety).

A plastic raincoat, by itself, does not arouse a sexual response because sex is basically a social relation; it involves relating to another person. It may inspire us to think about sex when we otherwise might not have done so, but the sight of it alone will not engage the full panoply of physiological reactions that comprise sexual passion. We need something more: we need something that will make our hearts beat faster, make our breathing come deeper and faster, make our muscles quiver, and make our penises or clitorises come erect. With the exception of the last item, those are the symptoms of anxiety and that tells us something important.

Sex works in a way analogous to a joke. It starts by building tension, then it releases the tension in rhythmic muscle spasms in the genitalia, rather than in the respiratory tract. And just as there are some jokes (actually pranks) that are funny to contemplate but not funny to do, so there are sexual acts that are arousing to contemplate, but not so much fun to do in reality.

Bondage and Discipline provides us with an example of such acts. In this perversion a villain captures a victim, renders them helpless, and uses them as a sex toy. The latter act must involve a fetish that appeals to the reader; otherwise, the fantasy won't work as a lust arouser (if these stories involved rubber or leather, for example, they would not appeal to me at all and would be purely horrifying and repellant). The villain's purpose is to take responsibility for the fetish: it's the villain who loves plastic too much and the victim is merely a helpless participant in the villain's sex play. Thus the reader, who identifies with the victim, is relieved of the rejection anxiety pertaining to the plastiphilia.

In Freudian terms, the ego (which loves plastic) deceives the superego (the fount of all disapproval) by blaming the id (the abstraction of our animal urges). The superego consists of a person's unconscious understanding of the moral feelings of the people around them (however wrong that understanding may be), existing as an abstraction of their society's values: it's the superego that made me anxious about receiving disapproval and rejection over my plastiphilia. My id encodes my animal urges as modified by my experience of my world: this is where my plastiphilia lies, created by my ego quailing from normal lust. My ego, the "real me" in my unconscious mind, reacts to what the id and the superego do and acts to minimize any unpleasantness between them. Thus, responding to cues from my environment or my body, it makes up fantasies to express the feelings that those cues evoke.

Please note that Bondage and Discipline is not merely a milder version of sado-masochism: S&M is a wholly different perversion. B&D does not focus upon pain and terror, as S&M does, but rather upon anxiety and embarrassment. Yes, the victims in these stories don't show a lot of confidence and pride after they meet the villains. Here, the anxiety and embarrassment are entirely vicarious, but effective nonetheless in driving a sexual arousal in someone of the right persuasion.

The concept of the plastic prisoner combines plastiphilia with Bondage and Discipline, another perversion aimed at the reduction of rejection anxiety. It originated in my awareness of the inflated plastic punching bag, which first appeared in the 1950's. Essentially it consists of a roughly cylindrical balloon with a rounded base that incorporates a small sandbag whose weight rocks the bag back upright when it's knocked over. The image of a clown or a superhero printed on the plastic makes the bag a "sparring partner" for its owner. But to me the plastic made it sexy. It helped that clowns tend to be effeminate creatures. The bag is also huggable, so it was easy to get affectionate with it.

The utter helplessness of the punching bag suggests a Bondage and Discipline application. And if the plastic itself didn't suggest a sexual use, the shape would: the typical punching bag resembles an erect penis, so much so that some people euphemize masturbation by calling it "punching the clown". Further, when we inflate the bag we are, in essence, kissing it. All the elements are present for conceiving the idea of turning people into living inflated plastic dolls and using them as sex slaves.

Another aspect appears when we contemplate the scene in which the captor gets their prisoner pregnant with a plastic raincoat. It certainly puts a special emphasis on the sexual aspect of the fantasy and diminishes the prisoner's dignity even more. But in addition it evokes a perverse sense of security: the prisoner has become a beloved toy. As horrifying as that idea would appear to most people, it gives a sense of comfort to the plastiphiliac and further mitigates the rejection anxiety that haunts them.

One more factor to consider is the observation that these stories lay out what can only be called a parody of punishment. The restraining of the victims and their use as punching bags mimic the rituals of punishment and thereby acknowledge the neurotic's sense that he's doing something wrong. The captors represent the superego as well as the id in the unconscious morality play that drives the fantasy: they not only express the neurotic's perversity in order to take responsibility for it, they also express the neurotic's expectation of the wider society's disapproval of the perversity and of people's presumed desire to punish him for it.

For anyone other than a plastiphiliac (or someone with a similar fetish) these stories are, nonetheless, true horror. It helps to bear in mind that proper sexual love is well described by the statements, "If it's not fun for you, it's not fun for me" and "You are my playmate, not my plaything". It is to that state of propriety that we must always return. Think of these stories as being like a psychological dog park, in which our ids can run free without causing any harm. At the end of the story the ids must go back on their leashes and we must return to propriety to avoid horrifying others.

Many people would say that these stories are sick. What they really should say is that the stories make them feel sick. That's to be expected, because the rituals and fetishes of a neurosis are idiosyncratic: When sexual desire gets deflected by harsh anxiety away from its proper target, it is almost always redirected onto a target that has, in the minds of normal people, no connection to sex (after all, what connection does a plastic raincoat have to sex? It's meant solely to keep us from getting rained on). A person with a normal sex drive, seeing perverted lust and not understanding its cause, would be deeply disturbed, if not nauseated, by it. Usually such people interpret the perversion as a conscious choice to do evil, a deliberate choice to be offensive. Certainly, they think, such demented stories can have no redeeming social value.

But I think that's wrong. If we think of this pornography as a kind of dog park for the id, a place where our baser instincts can run off the leash for a time, then they do serve a purpose. The removal of normal social controls in these stories allows us to explore the desires that we normally suppress. Across the span of nearly two and a half millennia Aristotle admonishes us, "Know thyself!" If these stories help us in that endeavor, help us to gain understanding, then, however frivolous they may seem, however offensive to some people, they have value.

Sex Plastic

In the 1940's, 1950's, and on into the 1960's the plastic film used in protective wear (raincoats, aprons, and shower caps) was 100 micron (4 mil), calendared smooth, polyvinyl chloride. The plastic used in inflatable toys was twice as thick at 200 microns (8 mil). That thinness, combined with the material's low heat capacity, makes the plastic warm almost instantly to the touch. Made soft enough to lack all stiffness, to drape as limp as silk, made these plastic films a very sensual material.

Technically, the vinyl film came in two different varieties. One was made by mixing polymerized vinyl chloride with a plasticizer, essentially a heavy oil that lubricated the polymers to give the material the desired softness. Note that unplasticized polyvinyl chloride (PVC) is stiff enough to use in plumbing. The other material was made by polymerizing vinyl chloride and vinyl acetate together to obtain the appropriately soft material.

Plastic raincoats first appeared in the late 1930's and became popular in the late 1940's. They were considered the epitome of modernity. In the 1950 movie "No Sad Songs for Me" Margaret Sullavan played a character who wears her plastic raincoat on a cloudless day to indicate the character's progressiveness in contradistinction to less enlightened characters, who wear old-fashioned cloth coats. In "Witness for the Prosecution" (1957), though, Marlene Dietrich wore a plastic raincoat to indicate the sleaziness of her character. The popularity of plastic had begun to wane.

Poor design may have been partly responsible for that loss of popularity. The first raincoats were made by sewing the pieces together and fitting the coats with buttons. Poking holes in the plastic for the stitching, the attachment of buttons, and for buttonholes made the plastic susceptible to tearing at those points and the coats didn't last long. The use of radio-frequency electromagnetic fields, somewhat in the manner of a microwave oven, to weld the pieces of the coat together (heat sealing) turned out to be the best means of assembling plastic garments that were robust enough to survive normal use. The use of snaps (called poppers in Europe) was an improvement over buttons, but not by much. The ideal closure for a plastic raincoat, the magnetic patch that I describe in my stories, has never, to the best of my knowledge, been used.

As I conceive them, the magnetic patches consist of soft plastic perhaps half a millimeter (500 microns) thick in two pieces. One piece, about the size of a large thumbnail, has magnetized material dispersed throughout the plastic. The other piece, called a keeper, has iron filings dispersed throughout the plastic. The pieces would be welded or glued to opposite sides of the raincoat's French placket, magnetized pieces on one side and keepers on the other. When the sides of the placket are brought together and overlapped, the magnetic force between opposing pieces will hold the coat closed, yet they can be easily pried apart when the wearer wishes to remove the coat. Magnetic patches would also be used on the sash-style belt (essentially a doubled-plastic ribbon) that goes with the raincoat. They might also be used on extended corners of the hood to keep it snug around the wearer's face.

Plastic aprons for home use originated in the late 1940's and remained reasonably popular through the late 1960's. There were two basic types - the kitchen apron (also known as a full apron) and the hostess apron (also known as a half apron or serving apron). Both types consist of the tie (a doubled plastic ribbon) to which the skirt, usually ruffled, is electronically welded. On the hostess apron the skirt is usually knee-length or a little shorter and on the kitchen apron the skirt hangs well below the knee, being in some cases ankle length. The kitchen apron also differs from the hostess apron in having a bib connected to a halterneck or crossover straps (again made of doubled-plastic ribbons) to support the apron partly on the housewife's neck or shoulders.

The primary advantage of the plastic apron lies in the fact that it's waterproof. If a housewife were to make an error in movement and spill boiling water on herself, the water would bounce off the apron and do no harm. Because the plastic melts at about 300 degrees Fahrenheit, the apron won't be damaged. The plastic also doesn't stain easily: any spill can be wiped off with a damp dishcloth.

The standard plastic shower cap was invented by someone at Kleinert's Rubber Company in the early 1940's when the world war made rubber effectively unavailable for civilian use. It consists of a disc of plastic film a little over a foot wide with a rubber band attached to its rim with expansion stitches so that it forms a simple beret-style cap. These were popular through the 1960's and then began to fade away as women grew their hair longer, adopted hairstyles that didn't have to be set with chemical preparations, and got acquainted with blow dryers.

If you want to see the basic Kleinert's shower cap, watch "The Sad Sack" (1957). In one scene a platoon of WACs are taking a morning shower. It's the scene in which the hapless soldier of the title discovers that he's in the wrong barracks.

Inflatable toys are made by electronically welding suitably shaped sheets of plastic film, usually 200 microns (8 mil) thick, together to form a closed bag. A valve welded around a small hole in one sheet enables someone to inflate or deflate the bag. Because the plastic is airtight, a bag blown full will remain plump and firm, as long as the plastic is not punctured or the valve doesn't leak.

Made of the same plastic as the bag, the valve consists of an aureole (perhaps an inch or so wide) with a short tube jutting from its center. A plug attached to the outer end of the tube allows the user to close the valve. A better design would dispense with the plug and instead have a small flap of thicker plastic (perhaps 500 micron) welded along one side to the inside of the toy's skin after the valve itself is welded on. When the toy is fully inflated a slight overpressure holds the flap against the base of the valve, blocking the opening so that air cannot escape from the bag. To deflate the bag a person would simply push a drinking straw into the valve to push the flap open and thereby let the air escape. A flange on the straw would prevent it from being pushed all the way into the toy.

Inflatable plastic toys originated in the late 1940's (inflatable rubber toys existed earlier) and have been popular ever since. Chief among them are the air mattress, the beach ball, and the punching bag, though inflatable punching bags are not quite as popular as they were in the 1950's and 1960's. The punching bags would usually bear an image of a clown, a superhero, or a cartoon character to provide children with a "sparring partner".

Websites

www.funplastic.de: for raincoats like the ones I describe in my stories click on Rainwear, then on Ladies Raincoats, then PVC-U-Like, and style PA3C. For aprons, click on Aprons, then Montcler, then MC22 (Aprons of the Fifties) to get a look at something close to the aprons I describe in my stories.

www.rubberevashop.com: Rubber Eva's website. Click on Plastic Clothing, then Female Clothing, then either Mac & Coats or Aprons. Under Macs & Coats the long hooded mac is the equivalent of the PA3C above. Under Aprons, a longer version of the Betty style without the pockets and with a halterneck would look very much like the full aprons in my stories.

www.pvcrainwear.com: redirects to fashionrainwear.co.uk, Elements Rainwear, which is a good site for seeing a wide variety of plastic raincoats.

-o-End-o-

 

 

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13.06.16