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Bloody Hell. I know they can be evil bastards but I wasn’t expecting this. My name’s Elizabeth and I am in the worst predicament of my life. I mean, I’ve survived a few scrapes before, for daring to wear Latex, but this is taking things really too far. I was caught by the PVC Academy trying on a white, skull-print, black-edged latex thong and those pirate-esque pants have sure put me in a pickle. The most embarrassing, worst pickle of my entire 36 years, I should add.

It’s absolutely chucking it down as I lay bound to a fat, striped pool inflatable that balances on a wall-papering trestle. If that isn’t precarious enough, I am also tied up on a public street like a cheap whore side-show. I can barely sweep my rain-drenched hair from my burning face. There are people pointing and laughing as they enter the coffee shop or the place that sells bikes. I seem to be captive near the red-light district. The type of family unfriendly dump where all the perverts shuffle. It’s certainly bustling.

The rain pounds my thigh-high, shiny PVC boots as my slender legs flail like a drowning fly. My favourite black stockings and tight, leather shorts dungarees are soaked through. I kick and wriggle the best the ropes will allow me – but it’s really not enough. I’m just glad I’m covered up -albeit, scantily – as the rain spatters my face. Even the taut red ball-gag lets İstanbul Escort water in my mouth. My light blue spectacle rims really set off my blue eyes but I am beyond caring as the lenses steam up. My white cotton crop-top is almost see-through now.

The rain cracks on my leather and whips on my plastic. The blow up crocodile nestles in the small of my back. It hoists my hide-clad derriere up to the rudest position imaginable. My arse is in the air. I’m used to rubbing myself up on these inflatables – not being compromised, in impossible positions, by them. So, here we are.

I’m first victim to a plump, elderly lady wearing a knee-length, cream cotton coat. She bowls over to my captive state. She prods me with the steel tip of her umbrella. She rubs it on my kinky boots then jabs between my legs as she tuts. The steel tip prods and slides on my leather-clad pussy. Then, she starts whacking me harder. She looks over to a couple of hunks.

They toss their cigarette butts onto the pavement and walk over bold as brass. I try to protest but the wet ball-gag is too tight. I’m praying she doesn’t open her umbrella, which reminds me of Mick’s ball-stretching parachute, anywhere unseemly.

The old trout can see I’m alive, as can the gathering crowd, yet she still prods my thighs like I’m a dead animal. Some of the spectators Escort İstanbul are fumbling in their pockets as the two bronzed, muscled gents start to release the straps on my black leather dungarees. The woman stops poking and leans on her walking stick to pull the shorts-dungarees under the rope binding my waist. One of the studs pulls at the side buttons on my hips. The older lady drags my leather off over my kinky gloss boots. I kick as they rip at my crop top to expose the black lace bra that matches my suspender belt. My ample cup is no match for the two men as they toss my bra on the floor. I ride the invisible bicycle trying to protest. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes tight. My face is absolutely sodden. My glasses are steamed up.

The two men take a liking to my big tits. My nipples are on full show as they squeeze them and jangle my pierced nipple weights. They bounce the teardrop pearls that usually dangle from my ball capture nipple rings. Now, the blue weights are rolled between their thumbs and forefingers. Each nipple is being pulled and squeezed differently by the two gents. They rub my exposed belly and toy my stiff, weather-wet tits.

The older lady is now hooking her fingers into my blue-hued, glassy plastic tanga. My knickers are cold and stiff. The plastic cracks and crackles as it peels off İstanbul Escort Bayan my hot pussy. She eases the waistband down over my booted mid-upper legs. The men brush my thick trimmed, landing-strip appreciatively. My panties stretch to form a stiff plastic cup above my knees as my spread legs pull them tight. The rain starts puddling in my kinky gusset. I’m in the rudest of poses and my nipples defy my angst.

They work my nipples. The old lady pinches my burning pussy lips. She pulls and shakes my twat like a bad lad’s chin. Her warbling “grrrr” is mocking.

My legs are tiring and my wrists burn from the ropes. The two men laugh at the woman. They brush her aside as they caress my Mary. They work their fingers to the chants of the crowd. The rain collects in my panties and my belly button. I start to enjoy the breeze on my exposed arse-hole.

They work me faster now as the crowd claps. The rhythm claps faster. My thighs are soaked. I’m sodden too. I start to fight for breath. I writhe, bound. They wank me off. My bum pouts and I explode. My musky love laces the street air. I shudder and relax. I want to roll over happy but I’m tied up.

The men lick their fingers and play to the crowd with bags of bravado. Mick is laughing. He starts to loosen my gag. I don’t know if to laugh or cry as I’m able to wriggle from the trestle and cover myself up.

“It’s plastic or nothing,” Mick gestures. “None of that sweat-inducing, latex rubbish. Them’s the rules. And if it happens again…” I interrupt to shut him up. I don’t want to hear it. And I’ll quietly revisit this spectacle again. It’ll probably be a pool inflatable, PVC panty job – or two.

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