Vegas Twelve to One, Daunting Odds

I am taken to the wet room where all my cuffs are removed. Having no idea of what time of day it is, I am assuming I am here for my second daily cleansing, although it just doesn’t seem that long ago that I was here. I’m tired and my wondering mind makes me a little confused. My very sore butt is not looking forward to being touched at the moment. I am also unhappy to see I have an entourage of four with me. Are they going to watch this? How perverted and disgusting. But it’s not what I think, as one of the masters in the group picks up a hanger with a full-length black rubber suit and hood from a hook on the wall and shows it to me. “Isn’t this nice, it’s for you, I brought it with me, it’s just your size.” This is going to be another new experience for me. I really need to rethink all the things that are listed in the Contract, although I don’t have any particular fear of this kink. I really know nothing about it. When I’ve seen it online, the women always looked hot in latex and when they were bound, it was great. I feel I surge energy as the anticipation of something new that I would like to try. My mind is back into the game, I’m living my fantasies, I hope my body can hold up. Not exactly sure how this will play out though. I’m sure it will still be tied to the BDSM world.

My entire body is meticulously rubbed down with bath towels and then air dried with a hair blower. Cornstarch is then sprinkled all over me. I am leaned up against the Tee for balance as the one-piece garment is readied. It is rolled open and folded down with a significant amount of the cornstarch shaken into one of the legs. My left leg is lifted and slid into the powdered leg sleeve. I am told to point my toes and ankle down and they carefully and very slowly pull my foot through the foot opening. I put my foot down on the floor as the suit’s leg is then pulled up, again very slowly as it is a tight fit; the process moving an inch or two at a time. I now better understand what my wife goes through putting on pantyhose and tights. They continue to smooth out the rubber and center the back seam as they go. As it rolls up the tightness and constriction make the suit feel like a second skin. Every few minutes addition corn starch is sprinkled on my skin. You can tell that one of the masters leading the work is an expert at this by the way he exhibits patience with the process and how he uses his ‘rolling hand’ as a barrier between the rubber and my skin. It grinds on. They get to my knee and stop. The method is then repeated with the other leg. This technique continues as they come up my thighs, over my hips and butt. I’m surprised and amused that this is crotchless; there will be open access to my privates. The torso of the suit is zippered from the back and the front including the arms is all one piece extending up from the legs, so after the time-consuming process of the suit’s arms, chest, and even my lower neck being fitted to me first, the garment is zipped up from behind, ever so slowly, pulling my sides together, then the back closed. The constriction reminds me of all that I love about stretch-wrap bondage. The rubber has formed a vacuum with my skin and while currently I still have freedom to move all my limbs, there is that tight confining cocoon feel that I like so much. I’m sure they used a box of corn starch in the donning. The team seems pleased with the outcome of their tedious work.

The body suit has matching gloves, which are put on and fastened to snaps onto the sleeves, followed by rubber feet, better described as socks or botties, encapsulating my feet and snapped to the body of the suit. My ensemble is not complete as they are now fitting me with a red and black rubber corset. This goes on much easier and faster, having hook and loop buttons in the front and eyelets and loose laces in the back. It is unclipped, wrapped around me and refastened. The laces are then pulled tight one row at a time until my waist is constricted, not easy for a man, and my breathing minimized a tad, maybe more. The corset has matching wrist bondage cuffs that are put on and then locked to rings on the corset. Similar cuffs are put on my ankles, but for the moment at least not attached to each other or anything else. Finally, it is time for the hood, and using the same methods of donning, I now have a new rubber skin, tight around my head and face. The mouth and eyes are open but have snaps on each side of the openings to attach a matching blindfold and gag if desired. My nose is covered; however, there are two small gromet airholes to allow breathing when the gag is used. The hood overlays the neck of the suit. There is a neck belt on the hood that buckles and has four D-rings, front and back, and sides. These are in addition to one located at the top of the hood. I am ready to serve my captors as entertainment in a new fashion. I see my reflection in the wet room windows. In my opinion I don’t look erotic like the women I’ve seen outfitted in latex, but I think I have a sexier appearance than my naked body has been.

My dressers advised that the play party is moving outside, and I’m invited and that they have already RSVP for me. I am led to the playroom’s exit doors and taken outside. The first thing I notice is it is hot out and I can feel the warmth of the desert sun’s rays through the black rubber. I am walked to the chaise lounge area where I see more gear. Initially, I’m not sure, but it looks like ponyplay equipment.

I’m surprised and pleased that they start by applying suntan lotion to my two areas of exposure, my face and my privates. There is a fine line between putting lotion on my privates and rubbing my privates with lotion. Let’s just say, I am not likely to burn there today. I am then told to raise my feet, one at a time of course, where hoof boots are placed over my rubberized feet. They have an odd feel, unlike shoes or sneakers. This had to be planned way in advance, as the rubber suit was sized for me, and so are these boots. When Sir and I were discussing the trip to Vegas, he quizzed me on my clothing and shoe sizes, now I understand why. A harness is then fastened around my waist and lower chest, overtop of my corset. I am told to bend forward, and my exposed sore butthole is fitted with a well lubed steel butt plug sporting a long black horsehair tail. Next comes a bit and bridle snuggly attached over my rubber hood and into my open mouth. They take their time making sure it is well adjusted so they can control my head movement as well as my speech. They add blinders to limit my peripheral vision. A red plume is then inserted in the top. My arms are then crossed behind my back and bound so that they are useless to me. I wish there was a mirror as I would like to see what I look like now with the horse gear. Am I a stud? Erotic? Sexy? A spectacle? I like the half-naked girl ponies prancing on the internet. Will this crowd think I look sexy?

Hey, brain, what are you thinking? Why do you care? Who is here that you want to look sexy for? Ego? What are they doing to my mind? I’m here to be a submissive, not for whatever was just going through my mind. OK, concentrate on what they are telling you to do.

I am told to walk forward about fifteen feet, turn around and come back, I do. I am then told to do it again, this time trot, like a horse. I can do it, but my butt reminds me it is sore from its earlier overuse as the plug wiggles as I run. When I come back, reins are attached to my bridle. I’m told if the right rein is pulled, I’m to go right, left pulled, then left. Both jiggled, go forward, pulled back, stop. Hit with the crop, go faster. In my mind, ‘A crop? Crap.’ They have me trot back and forth a few times. I’m told to prance more, to raise my knees up high as part of each step. It is then that the master that has led my rubber latex and now horse transformation says, “Lets connect him to the sulky, I’m ready for a ride.” I look around and don’t see any cart. But I do see one of the subs opening a gate in the pool area’s privacy wall. I am trotted to and out the gate. Just to the outside of the gate is a chrome sulky to which my harness is quickly attached. We are now outback of the home’s property; it is wide open. My concern is not that I am dressed as a horse, it is that my junk is fully exposed. I am visible to the world. A rider gets in, by the voice I can tell it’s the same master. I get a shake of the reins and crack of the whip, and I start to pull the cart forward. We are on a flat, smooth winding path that transverses the rear of the property. I have no idea of what is around me, as my view is limited, and I am concentrating on my trotting in the awkward hoof boots. The path ultimately terminates at the home’s driveway by the garage. I am concerned as I am directed onto the driveway to continue my pulling. I’ve been slowed to a fast walk. My route is still down the driveway.

At the point where the driveway meets the turnoff to the front of the house I try to turn that way, but my left rein is pulled hard, and the whip hits me hard. “I decide where we are going, not the dumb animal!” And we continue down the driveway towards the public road, my cock and balls swaying back and forth as we move forward. We reached the road where we stopped and he has me wait facing the street until you can hear a car approaching, he waits until it nearly reaches us when he mercifully turns me around and we start heading back up, my exposed privates no longer visible street side.

I am now noticing I am getting hot. This black suit absorbs the sun’s rays. The driver pulls me to a stop at the wye to the house where the Host has a bottle of water for me, which they help pour into my mouth, as I have no hands and there is a bit in my mouth. I pull my rider all the way back to the starting point. There waiting for me is an attendant with a hose who squirts me down with cold water which is much welcomed. I am ‘fed’ more water, this time via a horse bucket held to my face which I must lap up to overcome the bit in my mouth. My temperature is also taken with an electronic thermometer, I am warm, but deemed still within their set health and safety limits.

“Who’s next?” My rest is over, and another rider gets in. This ride is much shorter and limited to the outback and the pace is a simple walk. Upon return, another hosing, watering, temperature taking and a change of riders. The third rider takes his turn, this time with more whipping as he wants me to go faster around the backward loop. I respond with a faster trot as best as I can, not so much to please my rider as to stop his strikes of the riding crop.  Another exchange and this time it’s Sir Michael taking the reins. He’s less aggressive with the whip than the others. I am exhausted, hot and dragging. We have traveled about a third of the outback path when he calls out, “Are you out of steam, do we need to stop?” I shake my head up and down, like a horse does. And he says, “OK let’s go back.” We turned around and returned to the gate. My best friend wants me to live my fantasy but not harm me in the process.

After a quick hose down for cooling, I am taken to the gazabo for shade as they remove my horse paraphernalia, leaving me in my original rubber gear. My arms are released from my back, and I am allowed to drink my own bottle of water before they attach my wrists to the side rings of my corset. I am led from the protected gazabo to the nearby patio area where I am helped to the ground and laid out on a rubber pad (I’m told to protect the garment, not for my comfort). My arms are released from my corset and pulled up and wide, being resecured to chains secured to rings hidden within the pavers. My legs are similarly held down. The purpose for this attachment isn’t so much to put me in strict bondage as to keep me held while they slowly roast me without the ability to seek my own relief. Black rubber clothes, hot sun rays, I will heat fast. Thankfully my exposed skin was recoated with suntan lotion to replace that lost in the washdowns.

I do heat up fast. For my safety, they check my temperature with an electronic thermometer every five minutes or so. I not sure what they established as the cut off, but at least four times I was sprayed down with cool water which provided needed relief. I’m sure I was barbequed for at least thirty to forty-five minutes. As I laid there, I could hear lots of outside activities. Some were using the pool; others were on the lounge chairs near me chatting. Some were being serviced. I was just left alone other than for safety checks and cooling. Other than the heat, I loved the feel of the rubber and the time to rest, I did drift off occasionally, only to be awakened by the hose. The last time I was awoken by one of my monitors who said, “Sir Michael, if you want him medium-rare, he’s done.”