by PlastiClown

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© Copyright 2014 - PlastiClown - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/m; captive; mc; plasticwear; rainwear; aprons; transform; majick; m2doll; plastic; doll; toy; punchbag; hum; m2f; preg; mast; sex; climax; cons/reluct; X

I am supposed to be Marla Schauerkappe’s plastic prisoner. And even that’s a mistake. I had originally been captured for the pleasure of Marla’s husband Beaubeau.

It was a rainy day and I had to go out on some minor errand. I put on my raincoat and went on my way. That’s what got me in trouble. My raincoat is a woman’s raincoat made of soft, skin-smooth, semi-transparent light-blue plastic closed with thumbnail-sized patches of magnetized rubber, each surrounded by a quarter-inch aureole of welded plastic. To make matters worse, I needed a haircut: my hair puffed out the raincoat’s pixie-style hood. So it was kind of understandable that Beaubeau would mistake me for a woman.

I was standing at a stoplight, waiting to cross the street, when I felt something touch the back of my left hand. A strange warmth spread through me and brought with it a kind of lethargy. I saw myself as if from a distance, as if I were an outside observer of my own actions. I saw next to me a pudgy young man with bright red hair.

“Come with me,” the man said in a high, slightly nasal voice and walked away.

I followed the man, feeling a strange attraction to the transparent-gray plastic raincoat that he wore, mesmerized by the soft highlights dancing across the soft, smooth plastic. He led me to a parked car and ordered me to get into the back seat and lie down. When I had complied, a woman with platinum-blond hair threw a blanket over me. I just had time to notice that she was wearing a raincoat made of transparent-white plastic on which white and silver starburst patterns had been printed.

It turned out that they drove me to a posh neighborhood, to a large ranch-style house set on a one-acre lot. The man drove the car into the garage and I heard the garage door closing, the sound of my fate being sealed. The couple then commanded me to get out of the car and they led me into the house and into the wide living room. There they told me to stand at attention in the middle of the room and they introduced themselves to me as Beaubeau and Marla Schauerkappe.

Beaubeau ordered me to take off my raincoat. When I did so, he took it from me and tossed it onto a chair, where it landed with the soft, warm swish of plastic film sliding over itself. Meanwhile Marla reached into my pocket, took out my wallet, and looked at my identification.

“Uh oh,” she said in her soft, sensuous voice. She showed my ID to Beaubeau and a deeply disappointed look came over his face. “She’s a he,” Marla said. “What are we going to do with him?”

Beaubeau looked me over. “Make a nice punching bag, I suppose. You want to keep him?”

Marla looked me over and pulled down my pants. I felt my penis swell up and come erect. “Yeah, he might be fun to play with,” she said. “Sure, let’s test him. We can always sell him later.”

“OK,” Beaubeau said. “I’ll go get him ready.” He commanded me to come with him and led me back to the master bedroom. He took off his raincoat and tossed it onto the bed, then led me into the bathroom.

He told me to take off all of my clothes and drop them into a laundry basket that sat by the toilet. I obeyed and stood naked for his inspection. Then from a drawer he took a small machine that looked like a hand vacuum. He ran the head of it over my body and removed all of my body hair, leaving my skin smooth and rubbery looking. Then from another drawer he took a cellophane package, opened it, and handed me the contents, telling me to put it on.

It was Pert and Pretty’s “Queen of France” shower cap. Paper-thin transparent plastic, silky soft and skin smooth, tinted azure, was formed into a beret by a blue rubber headband. Tiny fleurs de lys were printed on the plastic in a tiara pattern. The soft waxy sheen on the diaphanous plastic of the shower curtain seemed to mock me as I put on that perfectly feminine bath item. I felt my hair puffing out the plastic and blushed in embarrassment.

Satisfied that I was ready, Beaubeau ordered me to accompany him back to the living room. When I came back into the living room, I saw that Marla had taken off her raincoat and tossed it onto the chair, on top of mine. Now she was wearing a plastic kitchen apron, a big plastic pinafore. Made of silky-soft, skin-smooth, transparent-white polyvinyl folie, it had a bib wide enough to cover Marla’s ample breasts and it had a wide, ruffled skirt that fell almost to her ankles. Pale pink, blue, and yellow lollidots were printed on the plastic. I could almost feel her body heat radiating off the plastic and I felt my penis starting to come erect.

Marla directed me to stand on a strange pattern that had been woven into the rug. It was an elliptical disc made of green and silver threads woven in a dizzying pattern. I was directed to stand on one focus of the ellipse with the other focus on my left. It made no sense to me but I was compelled to do it.

Once I was on the spot I saw Beaubeau standing with a rod that looked like it was made of intertwined spirals of transparent ivory that had purple sparks flaring and glowing within the space among them. He went to stand on my left side while Marla came in front of me. Smiling, she stroked the plastic of her apron and told me that I wanted to have sex with it. In obedience to her implied command, my penis swelled and came fully erect. “Now,” she said to me, “take a deep breath and puff out your belly. Come on, get pregnant for me!”

I obeyed, nearly coming to climax as I did so. Marla said, “Now!” and I felt something touch my neck about one inch below and behind my left ear. Then I felt something explode inside me with a muffled whoomp and I jerked as if something had bumped me. My mind cleared then and I tried to get away from where I was standing, but I couldn’t move: some kind of rubbery force was holding me upright, standing at attention like a soldier.

“Perfect,” Marla said. She gave me a gentle bop with the back of her fist and I bounced off her fist as lightly as a beach ball and then tipped briskly back upright. “There,” she said to me, “now you’re our inflated plastic prisoner. I think you’re going to be a good toy.” Then she took off her apron and put it on me.

I struggled to think unsexy thoughts as I felt the plastic of the yoke press against the back of my neck, the bib rub against my belly, and the skirt stroke my penis. The plastic was still warm from being on Marla and I could barely keep from climaxing then and there.

My two captors looked me over and I got the impression that they were about to do something else to me, but then the front door opened. A red-haired teen-aged boy wearing a transparent-black plastic raincoat came into the room and caught sight of me.

“Oh, wow!” the boy enthused. “We got one!”

Marla addressed the boy as Dale and introduced me as their new blow-up slave-doll. She described what had happened, but was interrupted by the front door opening again. This time a teen-aged girl with red hair came into the room. She looked to be about a year or so older than Dale and as she looked at me she surreptitiously stroked the transparent-green plastic of her raincoat. Marla greeted her as Sharon and repeated to her what she had told Dale about me.

The kids went to their rooms to change into something more comfortable and Marla and Beaubeau went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. I was left standing on the weird spot, still wearing Marla’s apron.

The family ate in the dining room, which was next to the kitchen and out of my sight behind the wall containing the fireplace. I heard the usual family conversation about school and work, then I heard Beaubeau and Marla explaining to the kids how I came to be standing inflated in their living room wearing only a plastic apron. There then followed some discussion of the uses to which I could be put, though there’s precious little real work that an inflatable slave can do. Then the conversation got quiet and I couldn’t make what they were saying, but a few minutes later I heard laughter and felt a chill run up and down my spine (if I still had one).

Shortly after that I saw my tormentors come out of the kitchen. Beaubeau paused to take a stopwatch out of a drawer, then he joined the others in confronting me. He handed the stopwatch to Marla and stood in front of me.

“Now,” he said, “we’re going to play Bop the Bag. The object of the game is to see who can give you the most pugilistic pleasure.” With that he punched me and I went over backward, then bounced back up to get punched again.

Soft rubbery thumps accompanied by the swish of soft plastic filled the room. I was merely an inflated punching bag, rocking briskly to and fro as Beaubeau punched me. Then I realized, to my horror, that every time Beaubeau punched me my penis jerked forward and slid across the plastic of Marla’s apron, then when I bounced back upright the apron stroked my penis again. I was being masturbated and knew that if I climaxed I would be thoroughly humiliated. I struggled to avoid that fate, struggled to think unsexy thoughts, but to no avail.

My penis became more sensitive as the apron stroked it and all too soon I felt the strange tickle that precedes climax. And then I did come to climax and I jerked. I bucked and bounced as I rocked and rolled to Beaubeau’s punches, climaxing with what felt like long, hard spurts as my movements made Marla’s apron masturbate me all the more vigorously. Then Beaubeau stopped punching me, I came to a stop, and the climax ended.

Then Dale took his turn at punching me. Desperately I bobbed and weaved like a punch-drunk boxer. I tried to fend him off, hoping that by concentrating on the boxing aspect of what we were doing I could avoid the sexual aspect. I managed to hold off for several minutes but it did me no good. All too soon I was again climaxing vigorously into Marla’s apron.

Sharon sneered at me as she came in front of me to take her turn. “Yeah, we all know you want me,” she said. She punched me hard enough to slam me against the floor and the impact, though it didn’t hurt, was sufficient to distract me from the sexuality of the situation. But then Sharon gentled her punches and I was doomed. According to the stopwatch, I lasted a little over a minute.

“Amateurs,” Marla scoffed. She stood in front of me and took off her blouse and bra, giving me a good look at her ample breasts. “Imagine how much fun you’re going to have when you get to play with these!” she said. Then she punched me and I bounced like a beach ball for her. I lasted eleven seconds.

Having had their fun with me, they then sat down to watch a movie on TV. It had to be some strange channel, because the movie was something that no legitimate TV station would broadcast. It involved Kempie Tai (of course, the villain is named after the Japanese analogue of the Gestapo. That’s what vile dictatorships are good for: bad pornography. – PC) in what was supposed to be some kind of spy thriller. Like most spy thrillers, it was basically a Bondage and Discipline porno flick; it was a cat-and-mouse game in which people were getting captured and punished in various ways.

Basically, Kempie and her henchgoons were capturing their opponents’ agents and transforming them into living inflatable slave-dolls. To discover what was happening and to put an end to it, super-agent Biff Boppe was put on the case. Suave, debonair, competent in every way, Agent Boppe stuck out of the crowd like the proverbial sore thumb. There were the requisite fights, in which Boppe got used as a punching bag and then managed to escape. But eventually he was taken down and drugged. Helpless, he was taken to Kempie, who decided that she had a special use for him.

Like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, Kempie kept her prisoner in a cage and fattened him up. She tested him every day by the simple act of hugging him. Then the day came when she decided that he was ready, so she turned him into a plastic doll and made him put on his raincoat. Soft highlights danced over the gently billowing, limp, transparent, black-tinted plastic of his raincoat, arousing lust in his captress. Wearing a plastic kimono, Kempie lovingly stroked his pudged-out belly and gloated over him, complimenting him on how nicely he fattened up for her. She then bound him with shackles made of doubled plastic ribbons of the kind that would have been used as ties on a plastic apron. With her prisoner thus humiliated Kempie told him that his fate was to serve her as a bedwarmer; he had been fattened up to make him comfortable for her to lie upon. She then pushed her hapless blow-up fool toward her bedroom and the movie ended.

Beaubeau turned off the TV then and the family went to their bedrooms for the night. On her way Marla came to me. She stepped on the carpet to my left and I felt the rubbery force holding me vanish. I could move freely again.

“Take off my apron and put on your raincoat!” Marla said. When I complied with her command she led me toward the master bedroom and put me into a small guest bedroom next to it. She turned off the light and closed the door and locked it, leaving me alone in the dark. There were only a bed and an inflated plastic armchair in the room, so I felt my way to the chair and sat down. I sat for a long time listening to the rain falling outside.

I soon found myself petting my raincoat. The plastic was soft and warm and it felt good to sit and stroke it. I thought about Marla and how she had played with me and about what she had hinted. I masturbated over that latter thought and climaxed again and again. I must have been playing with myself for an hour, but eventually I got tired and laid myself down on the bed to sleep.

Marla first played with me as a sex toy the day after I was captured. It was about an hour after Beaubeau and the kids left that I heard the door to my prison being unlocked. Marla, wearing a satin robe and with her hair tucked up into her shower cap, came into the room. The transparent-pink plastic of her shower cap seemed to glow in the room light and framed her face in a warm halo. I imagined that I could feel the heat radiating off her body.

She started by taking off her robe, then embracing me, hugging me, and kissing my neck. “I love this raincoat,” she said as she stroked it, “but you’re going to have to take it off so I can fuck you.”

I took off my raincoat and dropped it onto the chair, on top of her robe. She pushed me down onto the bed, crawled onto the bed, and got on top of me. I felt her soft flesh press hot against me as she took me in a tight embrace and the pressure in my penis grew, the more so when she began rubbing her vulva against it. I felt her clitoris stroking me and exciting me. I was ready to climax, but she wasn’t.

“Oh, you’re so soft and warm,” she said in a quavery voice, “my helpless plastic prisoner.” She rubbed against me more vigorously. I squirmed in her embrace as she thrust her hips to and fro more rapidly. She was panting and uttering little grunts with each thrust. Then she jerked and began pounding me all the harder as she climaxed and let out a series of squeals. I bucked and writhed under her as I came to my own climax. I felt as though I were ejaculating a gallon, though nothing actually came out of me. Then it was over and she went limp, lying on me and panting from her exertion.

“Oh, you’re a nice toy,” she said at last. “But you’re also going to have to earn your keep. I think you’ll be good at folding laundry and dusting.” That was my fate: I was going to be the maid.

So there I was, being worked as a house-slave while wearing nothing but a transparent plastic raincoat. And what was my first priority? Playing with Marla’s big, fat, plastic apron. I got my opportunity on my fourth day of captivity.

Marla had gone shopping and had forgotten to lock me in the guest bedroom. I had free run of the house, so I took off my raincoat and went to the kitchen. I saw Marla’s apron hanging on its lunette and stood admiring it for a moment. I imagined Marla wearing it on her naked body and convinced myself that she had masturbated with it, rubbing the plastic over her clitoris until she came to an explosive climax. Then I lifted it off its lunette and put it on.

As I knotted the ties behind my back in a sloppy bow, I wandered into the living room. I went to the sofa facing the TV and sat down on my raincoat. I ran my hands over the apron and used the plastic of its skirt to stroke my penis until I came to climax. For a couple of hours I played with the apron, trying to imagine what it must feel like to be Marla’s plastic apron. Then, afraid of being caught, I took off the apron, hung it back on its lunette, and put my raincoat back on.

When Marla came back she stood over a floor vent and the updraft billowed her raincoat and made her look a little like an inflated plastic punching bag. I was sitting on the couch reading a magazine and tried not to stare too hard. She ignored me and took off her raincoat, then draped it on a padded hanger and hung it on the bar mounted above a piece of carpet.

Going to the kitchen, she turned on the radio and a weird song came on. It sounded like a song that I had heard years ago, but the lyrics were all wrong. It seemed like something from another world.

He went away and I got bored
and thought of you every night.
And when you wouldn't go out with me
I did something that’s just not right.

My boyfriend's back and I’m gonna use my magic.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
The result for you is gonna be so tragic.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
You’re gonna face a fate that’s just a little drastic.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
You’re gonna be so soft when I turn you into plastic.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)

Hey, on you he’s gonna pounce.
He’ll punch you and you’ll bounce.

He's been gone for such a long time
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
Now he's back and things'll be fine
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
My shower cap is what you will be wearing.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
His punches and jabs are what you will be bearing.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)

Hey, you’re fate I’m gonna sew up!
Now your body’s gonna blow up!

Our torture of you is never gonna stop.
(Wah‑ooo, wah‑ooo)
He’s gonna keep you forever and punch you ‘til you pop.
(Wah‑ooo, wait and see!)

My boyfriend's back: he's gonna do my evil bidding.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
When I said you’re just an air bag I really wasn’t kidding.
(Hey, punching bag, my boyfriend's back)

Yeah, my boyfriend's back
(Punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
Look out now, yeah, my boyfriend's back
(Punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
You’re gonna hop and bobble.
(Blow-up slave, my boyfriend's back)
You’ll bounce and then you’ll wobble.
(Punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
Alright now
(Punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
(Punching bag, my boyfriends's back)
My boyfriend's back now
(Punching bag, my boyfriend's back)

Yeah, he’s gonna play with you,
(Punching bag, my boyfriend's back)
Because he knows that’s what to do now...


It was raining again when Marla’s younger, unmarried sister, Maria Duschhauben, came to visit. I was standing on the holding spot wearing my raincoat when she came in. Wearing a white cashmere dress protected by a Tres Plastique raincoat made of limp, smooth transparent-white plastic on which black and gray polka dots had been printed, she came into the living room and stared at me in astonishment.

“So he thinks he’s the Queen of France?!” she said mockingly.

“We weren’t ready for a male prisoner, so that’s all we had,” Marla said. “And given how he fooled us with that feminine raincoat of his, I think he deserves it.”

“Well, this should be fun,” Maria said. She stepped on the patch of carpet to my left to deactivate the holding field and then ordered me to come with her. Marla leered at me.

Taking my hand, Maria led me back to my room. Once inside, she closed the door, took off her raincoat, and tossed it onto the chair. Then she looked me over and stroked my raincoat.

“Come on, Your Highness,” she taunted, “take it off!”

I took off my raincoat and dropped it onto the chair, on top of her raincoat. I then watched as she took off all of her clothes. Completely naked, she picked me up and laid me on the bed. She crawled onto the bed and lay down next to me, putting her arms around me and pulling me up against her. Her softness and her warmth aroused me as she hugged me and kissed me. She ran her hands over my body and began breathing heavily. When she mounted me and straddled me she reached climax in less than a minute, but she wasn’t finished with me. She lay on top of me for an hour, coming to multiple climaxes, and each of her climaxes stimulated one in me. She had me bucking like a bronco and she was enjoying the ride. I figured that she must have been more than a little distracted, because when she got dressed and left she forgot to take her raincoat.

That night Marla took me into the shower with her and masturbated with me as she bathed. Back in my room I pulled Maria’s raincoat out from under mine, put it on and spent about half the night masturbating with it.

The next day was foggy and quiet. It was one of those days when the world seems to slow down to catch its breath. In a way I was glad that I had been freed from all obligations. And I saw opportunities.

I thought I was going to be alone in the house all day. Dale and Sharon had gone to school, Beaubeau had gone to work, and Marla had gone to visit Maria to help her prepare to get her own plastic prisoner. I planned on using the opportunity to play with Marla’s apron and raincoat, but before I could make my move I heard the front door open and close. A few minutes later Dale came into the room and told me to come with him.

He led me into the living room and told me to take off my raincoat and stand on the holding spot. I obeyed and he stepped on the spot to my left, making the rubbery force-field rise up and trap me. Then he walked away.

As I stood completely naked on the holding spot I expected Dale to return with an apron so that he could practice making me climax as he bopped me. But he didn’t come back with an apron. He came back carrying Marla’s transformer wand and a pornographic magazine.

I didn’t have time to wonder about the implications of that observation. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stand on my left, holding the magazine in his left hand and Marla’s wand in his right. He was gazing at one of the pictures in the magazine and after a moment he touched the wand to my valve stem.

I felt a punch in my crotch and an odd tightening in my chest. I puzzled over those sensations while he went to put away the magazine and the wand. When he came back he stepped on the toggle and freed me from the holding spot. I looked down and was horrified by what I saw.

My breasts had enlarged until I looked like I had a pair of tennis balls stuck under my skin and the nipples had grown larger as well. Looking further down, I saw that my penis was gone. In its place was a female vulva with the labia swollen and the clitoris protruding from under its hood. Dale had turned me into a woman and I had no doubt as to his purpose.

“Put on your raincoat and come with me,” he said. I obeyed and became intensely aware of the raincoat’s plastic rubbing my newly enlarged breasts. He led me to his bedroom and when I balked at the door he simply pushed me inside, came in behind me, and closed the door. I saw, standing in the middle of the room, his own plastic prisoner.

The punching bag was an ovoid plastic balloon large enough to bear a life-sized image of Batman’s partner Robin. The hapless hero stood with his hands tied behind his back and he wore a knee-length serving apron made of transparent-white plastic on which the words “Punch Me” had been printed in big, blobbery black letters. A weighted base kept the balloon upright and bounced it back upright after it had been knocked over.

“OK,” he said in a tremulous voice, “go give Robin a hug.”

Following his instructions I went to the bag and put my arms around it. Then I had to watch as he took off all of his clothes except his underpants, a girl’s blue panties. He was breathing heavily as he narrated a fantasy in which I was to participate.

In his fantasy I was the Rubber Queen and he was obliged to pay a tribute to me in liquid latex. He laid me onto his bed and slid the skirt of my raincoat above my hips so that he wouldn’t kneel on the plastic and tear it. He stood by the bed, looming over me and touching his panties. Then he took off his panties and I saw his penis standing up straight. I was trembling inside as he climbed onto the bed and got on top of me.

I felt a strange pressure in my crotch as he penetrated me and I felt my lust intensify as his penis slid into my vagina. I thought it was strange how I understood what was happening with organs that I had never had before. My clitoris was swelling with hot pressure and I felt the light friction in my vagina getting me more excited. He started pumping on me and shortly I felt something hot blossom inside my lower belly and I climaxed, bucking, jerking, and writhing under my captor until he stopped moving and lay panting on top of me.

It was late afternoon when he stopped playing with me. He took me back into the living room, took my raincoat off me, and set me on the holding spot. While he went to get Marla’s wand, I puzzled over the strange warmth that I still felt deep inside me. Then he came back into the room and I felt him press something against the valve stem in my neck. Nothing happened. He touched me with the wand again and again nothing happened.

“Come on, man, I know I got it right,” he muttered. He touched me with the wand again and yet again nothing happened. “Oh, man, I am so screwed,” he said to himself. He put the wand away, then came back, put my raincoat on me, and went to his room.

Not long after that Marla came home. “What the...?” she said when she saw me. She punched me for a few minutes and then went back to Dale’s room. I was only able to make out part of the conversation.

“Dale Bouffant Schauerkappe, what were you thinking?!” She sounded more exasperated than angry.

“I must have forgot the spell,” Dale said defensively. “You can change him back, right?”

“Wrong!” Marla said. I felt a frisson of horror and humiliation flash through me when I heard her say, “You’ve made her pregnant! That’s why you couldn’t reverse the change!”

“I... I didn’t mean to,” Dale stammered.

“I know,” Marla said with a sigh. “I should have anticipated this and taught you better.” She then told him that he was forbidden to play with me any more.

Sharon got the giggles when she came home and saw me. Beaubeau, when he saw me later, just looked bewildered. Marla fussed and fumed. Then she took me off the holding spot and led me back to my room.

Before she left I grabbed her sleeve to get her attention. I made a gesture of running my hands over a swollen belly and shrugged.

“Yes, you’re pregnant,” she said with a sigh. “You were wearing your raincoat when Dale climaxed into you, so now you have a copy of your raincoat growing inside you. Whenever someone squirts his semen into you, the new raincoat will get a little bigger and you’ll get a little fatter. A couple of months from now, I suspect, you’ll have a new raincoat.”

When Beaubeau got home Marla showed him what Dale had done. She explained about my pregnancy and told Beaubeau that she wanted him to bring me to term. “I don’t want Dale doing it,” she said. “That would be too much like rewarding him for what he did.”

“But you’re asking me to fuck a guy,” Beaubeau whined.

“Did he look like a guy when you came in the room?” Marla asked pointedly.

“Well, no,” Beaubeau admitted. “But it’s, like, you know, I know he’s really a guy.”

“Just do it!” Marla said in an exasperated voice.

With a sigh of resignation, Beaubeau looked at me and sadly shook his head. Of course, I wasn’t too thrilled about the idea myself.

Late that night I was lying in bed naked when I heard the door open and close. Beaubeau had come to do his duty. He got into bed with me and spent about a minute feeling me up and playing with my breasts.

There wasn’t much in the way of foreplay, but then foreplay is something we do with someone we genuinely love. I was merely a toy; a punching bag during the day and a fucking bag at night.

I felt his penis stiffening against my thigh and then he rolled over on top of me, penetrated me, and started pumping me. He was bouncing on me, huffing and puffing like some insane rubber locomotive, and soon I felt him squirt his fluid into me and I came to climax in spite of myself. He waited only long enough for me to absorb all of his liquid latex, then he got up and left.

Two days later Beaubeau brought me a transparent-black plastic raincoat with a Peter Pan collar and a separate bonnet. With it he gave me an opaque cream-white plastic serving apron that wrapped almost completely around my waist and hung four inches below my knees. I was officially going to be the maid.

I have to confess that, given the disdain that Sharon had shown toward me, I didn’t expect her to play with me as a sex toy. But one day she was in the house alone with me and I got used. She came to me wearing her bathrobe and her transparent-yellow plastic Blondie shower cap and told me to come with her. I had thoughts about being Sharon’s lesbian love slave, but I wasn’t so lucky.

We came into Sharon’s bedroom and I saw that Sharon had imprisoned someone else in that feminine Shangri-La. Sharon’s plastic prisoner was an inflated plastic punching bag big enough to bear a life-sized image of Supergirl standing with her head bowed, her ankles and wrists bound with kryptonite-laced rubber shackles. The use of rubber to bind and constrain the Girl of Steel only emphasized her helplessness. True it was merely an inanimate object, but I wondered how Supergirl felt when Sharon pushed her over backward, sat on her, and masturbated.

Sharon took off her robe and tossed it onto the bed and I saw that she was wearing only a knee-length serving apron made of limp, skin-smooth, transparent-green plastic. She stood with her feet spread apart on a thick towel that she had laid on the floor.

“OK, Your Highness,” she taunted, “Supergirl tried to rescue you, but she failed. So now you must reward your owner for defeating that Kryptonian bimbo.”

She indicated that I was to kneel before her. Through the transparent plastic of her apron I saw her vulva was open and that her clitoris was protruding from under its hood. It was clear that she wanted me to kiss her to climax, so I leaned forward and pressed my lips against her apron. She put a hand on my shower cap and pressed me harder against her. She rolled her hips and moved her clitoris over my lips and I could hear her breathing deepen and become more rapid. She began emitting strained grunts and moved more vigorously against me.

Then I felt something hit the inside of the apron as she thrust her hips forward and punched me with her belly. She climaxed long and hard as I continued to kiss her. Then she stopped moving and pushed me away. I saw her cunny spew running down the inside of her apron and dripping onto the towel. She stood for a moment, catching her breath, then she took off her apron, dropped it, and stepped off the towel. Apparently she didn’t want to get her smell on me, so I didn’t have to clean up her mess.

It seemed almost normal when Beaubeau visited me that night.

Finally Beaubeau had had enough and I ended up sleeping in Dale’s bed every night. My pregnancy was starting to show and Dale just couldn’t get enough of me. To be fair to the dear boy, I had actually started to enjoy the sex and had been teasing him with my plastic. He was blowing me up like a balloon. And then my time came.

My belly bulged like a beach ball. Well, a small beach ball. My raincoat almost wouldn’t close completely. And I was hot all the time. I had reached the stage in which Dale couldn’t get on top of me in bed, so he would sit on the bed, impale me on his erect penis, and masturbate himself by pumping me up and down. One night he climaxed even harder than usual and I felt an especially intense orgasm shudder my blown-up body.

It was early the next morning when I felt something masturbating me from the inside. I looked down and saw blue plastic protruding from my vagina. I came to climax over and over again. Strong spasms pulled my clitoris into my body and then let it pop out again. Little by little the new raincoat slid out of me as I bucked and jerked, squirmed and writhed on the bed. An hour later the orgasms ended and I had a new raincoat, clean and dry, lying between my legs.

I got up and went to show Marla that I was no longer pregnant, but the door to my room was locked. I put on my raincoat, draped the new raincoat across the bed, and waited. Some time, it seemed like hours, later I heard the door being unlocked and saw Marla come into the room. I pointed to the new raincoat on the bed and she expressed her delight, then she told me to follow her to the living room. I figured that the family was going to play with me as a punching bag again.

I was brought up short by a horrifying scene. A young couple, their hands bound behind their backs, sat on the couch. They were wearing only their raincoats, he in his transparent-gray plastic and she in her transparent-pink. They had already been plastified and were clearly going to be Beaubeau and Marla’s new toys. Certainly they were going to be kept in the little bedroom where I had been imprisoned. So what did that mean for me?

It meant that the Schauerkappes were not going to reverse the sex change that Dale had inflicted upon me. It meant that there was going to be a wedding and that I was going to be Dale’s blow-up bride. And it meant, I was sure, that I was very soon going to be pregnant with copies of Marla’s raincoat and apron.


If you want to see raincoats that look very much like the ones that I envision in this story, go to, click on Rainwear, click on Ladies Raincoats, and then click on style PA3C. I am especially fond of the picture of the young lady modeling the semi-transparent light blue raincoat. The girl in the semi-transparent red raincoat comes in second.

As for aprons, go to Aprons, thence to Montcler Classics, and thence to Aprons of the Fifties (MC22). The semi-transparent floral apron (MC22FLL) will give you a fair idea of what Marla’s apron looks like. But instead of the crossover straps described for the apron, Marla’s apron has a simple yoke, called a pull over strap on the description of the Sissy-Apron.

If you want to see a more precise picture of what Marla’s apron looks like (as of 2014 Nov 20), copy the following URL, paste it into the address bar of your browser, and click the search icon:



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