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 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.