This is chapter 5 of the story and before reading this you should read the previous chapters. The chapters are not self-contained but part of the same developing story. I apologise for how long this is taking me to put it all together but a good story like good sex is best when it is prolonged.
Chapter 5:
The morning is such a rush. Never enough time, everything squeezed into a precise routine, a well-rehearsed schedule through which we rush with no time wasted in thought. Sara and Tom's routine was completely disrupted one morning when Sara pulled open the draw containing her underwear and with that prickly feeling of fear crawling across her skin she stared down at a foreign set of black latex that was definitely not hers. Pinned to the panties was a simple note - no frills, just a few brief line of words scrawled across a scrap of paper, as if to remind her to buy some groceries on the way home. It simply said: "Wear these today. Ricky."
Sara recoiled from the draw as she pushed it firmly shut pressing her hand flat against the front of the drawer as if it might otherwise open by itself. She was staring at her hands, white with the force she exerted to hold the drawer closed. She turned to Tom, still lying in bed right next to her and tried to compose herself. Normally Tom would lie there and watch her getting dressed before going to have his shower, but this morning was not normal. Perhaps no future morning will ever be again.
"You'd better get ready Tom. Go have your shower."
Tom looked up at his wife and smiled with a slightly quizzical look on his face before he heaved himself out of bed. Tom too felt the strange unfamiliarity enveloping them from the break in their routine. It had an unsettling effect upon him. He could not put his finger on it, but he felt slightly apprehensive as he turned the taps on.
Once Tom was outside the room Sara again stared at the drawer before slowly pulling it back open. She looked at the dark shiny foreign material lying amongst her underwear. She felt a pang of anxiety at the realisation that someone else, no not someone, but someone who knew her; not just someone who knew her, but Ricky, had been looking through her underwear drawer. He had stood where she now stood and had examined everything that she wore so intimately and so privately. He had held them in his fingers, felt the material that pressed up against her body, felt the passion for her that had brought him all the way into her home to deliver his gift. What had he thought of them? Were they repulsive to him, surely they would be… Sara felt embarrassed. Perhaps he disapproved and that was why he had brought these new panties for her to wear. She picked them up and felt the glossy smoothness slippery in her hand. She became aware that her hand was damp and as she looked closer she saw the familiar oily gel that Ricky had used on her the other day. She started to shake as she remembered the effect it had had on her, how excited she had become, and how driven to distraction she was by her desire to be fucked by Ricky. Fucked, the word fuck echoed around in her mind, she toyed with it examining her reaction to this vulgar word that so aptly described her feelings that night. Yes if she wore these today then those unresolved feelings of desire would plague her throughout the day.
She already felt excited at the mental picture she had concocted of herself sitting at her desk at work, legs splayed under it, dreaming of being spread across that desk top Ricky pumping in and out of her, her sloppy wetness in reaction to his onslaught, the fear and thrill of someone coming in at that precise moment and her true self being revealed, finally forced out into the open: her desire to be a fuck toy to this man. To give herself as the object of his desire, to deny him nothing, to be wanton for him and feel the grip of his passion freeze her. To openly and with complete disregard to whoever would see her, abandon herself and display herself being ripped open by him, to let all see how she too could not shake herself free from her desire, and to be so thoroughly fucked. Her need drove her: her need for her debasement, her animalistic need that was overriding all her normal behaviour, flouting all that was expected of her.
Sara gasped as these phantasms overtook her, drowning her in their reverie. She was still shaking, feeling appalled with herself. Some corner of her mind screaming for her to stop, she lifted her nightclothes and slipped her panties off. The latex with the gel oozing out the sides of the crotch, lay in her open palm. She marvelled for a brief moment at the jet black material contrasting against the whiteness of her skin, in her mind she watched herself standing before the mirror - the black V of the material rising up over her abdomen, forcing her long white slender legs apart, tapering down as an inverted V mirroring the rising dark material. The whiteness of her skin contrasting with the black smooth V forcibly pressing between her legs, holding her in, holding her open. Sara pulled her nightie off and slipped the panties on. She pulled them up as high and as tight against her crotch as she could, making sure there was no fold in the material. It had to be smooth to match the picture in her mind; the cool slickness of the gel pressing into her, a familiar and welcome tormentor.
As the sounds of Tom's shower dribbled into the room she looked back at the drawer. She stood before it, her legs spread, the sensations of the sticky gel coating her once more already disturbing her train of thought. She found there a black latex bra to match. She lifted it out. It seemed very small, the material very thin. She pulled it round her and found it was too small. She could not quite get the clasp to catch. She took it off and examined it to see if she could let it out more. Then as she slipped the thin insubstantial straps over her shoulders she felt the loose latex cups brush and tickle her nipples. Once again she tried to draw the strap around behind her. The thin material pulled tight across the mounds of her breasts was stretched and seemed too feeble to take the strain. The dark blackness dissolving with the stretch of the material, the tension it was placed under fitting round her breasts pulled it tight and thin. She could see her breasts and her nipples clearly in an inky black tone, the roundness of her breasts accentuated by the tightness of the material. She almost had the clasp done as she felt the cool material into which her nipples were pulled, excite them and extend them. She felt them harden as the clasp caught and locked into place. She felt the tightness around her chest as she stood before the mirror. Her breasts seemed so much bigger encased in the material that strained so hard to encompass them. The latex now so thin she could see every detail of her breasts, and her nipples that pressed into the latex making dark points surmounted upon well-rounded creamy black domes.
Quickly now she got ready to hide these pleasures under her work clothes and rush off to work. Yet so excited was she that she couldn't resist picking up some more revealing items from her wardrobe than she would normally wear to work. The neckline a little lower, the skirt just above the knee, flaring slightly. She put her makeup on and once again made herself slightly more provocative than usual: the eyeliner a little darker, her lashes a trifle longer, her lips a more pomegranate shade of red and her foundation a paler tan. Her hair was loose as she pulled it out and let it fall. She would normally tie it back, but she liked the feel of the feminine flow of the strands brushing against her cheeks. As she stared back at herself in the mirror she saw an altogether more feminine woman looking back at her, she had an insecure allure and a hint of her secret peeking through her expression. She presented an image of a more docile person, her mind elsewhere more aware of her shapeliness and how others perceived her.
At that moment Tom came into the room and wrapped his arms around her. Somehow he needed the feel of reassurance, to feel her solid form, that she was not some ethereal mirage.
