Chemical Superheroines Chapter 6

[mrs uni]

It's taken forever but hopefully worth the wait....

Chapter 6
I awoke the next morning feeling glorious, the afterburn of the most erotic night of my life so far still tantalising my eyes and my memories. I made to turn slightly as my gloved arm felt numb from lying upon it and heard the grind of leather against rubber when I did so. I smiled and felt a rush of surging pleasure at that sound alone. I hoped that I would hear that sound every morning now when I awoke and that every morning I would happily experience having a numb arm as long as it was encased to the shoulder in a long sleek glove of rubber or leather.

Blinking I became aware that I was wearing the false eyelashes that Martha had dressed me in as part of my transformation last night, they felt heavy and feathery and I sensed that one of the long nails she had applied over my own was coming loose inside its finger sheath, deep inside the limitless glove. I tried to tweak the fingertip of the glove housing the damaged false nail only to see the latex it stretch a tiny bit before it snapped back to where it had been, virtually sticking to my flesh like an extra layer of skin.

Martha stirred and rested her chin in her cupped leather palm and grinned at me.

“I love the sound of rubber don’t you? But why are you trying to take off your glove? Don’t you love wearing it? Does it feel bad?” She looked worriedly at me. “I’d hate it if you were unhappy having to wear it.”

“No, I do, I never want to take it off, it’s just that one of my nails has worked loose.” I glowered and showed her the offending wobbly nail through the latex.

“We’ll soon have that sorted out for you.”

She reached over and gently slid her leather fingertips beneath the top lip of my glove up near my shoulder and began to turn over the latex between her finger and thumb, rolling it down my arm, peeling the rubber away and making my exposed skin feel cold and bereft. I inwardly cursed my stupid nail for being the reason I needed to take off my glove at all. The glove was now being rolled down towards my elbow, the roll getting bigger and bigger, the exposed arm feeling less blessed and desperately willing the glove to go back up again in a sensation like hunger. Then it traversed my elbow with a slight bump before beginning its journey towards my wrist.

“Why did you make me wear the nails anyway if we are to be gloved all the time together?” I pouted petulantly.

“Because they give us the excuse to wear gloves nearly all the time when we are in public too as we need to protect our nails of course. Besides, they make one’s fingertips in gloves look even more elegant don’t you think?” She paused and admired her long seemingly unending leather fingers. That is, until I nudged her to continue her ministrations to me.

By now my opera glove was rolled down to my wrist and the bunched up rubber was too thickly rolled for it to continue going any further. Martha took the roll firmly in her hands and all but stuffed my hand out of the gathered up fabric backwards so that each separate sheath began to slide downwards exposing more of my fingers before they were all finally freed from the glove with a wrenching, popping sound. The glove looking like a blackened doughnut with a fey little hand emerging from it as she cast it aside. Mindful of not allowing the magical garment to leave my sight I snatched it up with my rubber gloved hand and felt the comforting grinding of rubber on rubber as I clenched it tight in my latex palm.

Meanwhile I noted that Martha had began to stretch a skin tight white medical glove over the black leather of her long opera glove, covering first one and then the other.

“You didn’t think I would do any job with my bare hands now did you?” She asked me in an incredulous tone of voice.

“Well no, that wouldn’t be your way now would it?” I replied.

“It won’t be yours either. I forbid you from doing any task ever again ungloved. You will learn to develop ways of living that never necessitate you to expose your hands, just as I have done.”

Martha tossed a white powdery medical glove at me from the box where she had procured hers and made me cover my latex bound hand in a second layer of skin tight rubber as if one layer of rubber wasn’t enough. Once she was satisfied the black opera glove was protected, she grabbed my naked hand in her creaking rubber gloves, noted the long red false nail that had worked its way loose and squeezed a liberal size blob of nail glue beneath it before encouraging me to waft my hand as one does to encourage nail polish to dry quickly. It soon felt hard and fast, certain it would never work its way free again I reached for the black doughnut shaped form of my discarded opera glove that I had been forced to relinquish in order to snap on the pointless surgical glove. I just HAD to plunge my poor naked hand and arm inside that endless, tantalising glove again, right now, this God damn minute!

But relief that I would soon no longer have to tolerate my naked hand was short lived. A stick like form darted in my vision and with one flick, my beloved latex glove was swept out of sight. Thanks to the tight lacing of my steel boned corset and being secured in patent leather up to my crotch on top of eight inches of boot heel and platform sole I wasn’t nimble enough to pounce and seek out my lost glove. I gasped in horror and frustration, pawing in the direction I had seen it go with my nude hand.

“My glove!”

“You didn’t deserve it. You almost broke your finger nail. You’d probably have wrecked that glove too.

“Martha! How could you?”

“Easily.” She bore over me and I noticed the stick was actually a whip. Then I noticed the whip was idly slapping against her black leather palm and that she was approaching me, her breasts spilling over her glossy corset and that she wasn’t wearing any pants. I felt volcanic within at the prospect of being whipped by Martha for something so trifling as a loose false nail, the disproportionate punishment along with robbing me of my beloved latex opera glove made me feel I would faint with anticipation and longing. She seized my naked hand in one of her leather coated hands and told me to brace myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and submitted to her for my punishment. I heard a whistling sound and then felt the sting of her whip across my poor exposed hand. I managed to yank my nude hand away from her and cupped it in my rubber hand, examining the palm for pain and injury. It stung and there was a red line from one side of my hand to the other.

My reaction wrong footed her, my retreat and shock gave me enough of a momentary advantage to retrieve my latex fetish glove from her. Without another word I set about massaging the rubber over my injured hand, making sure the finger sheathes fitted so snugly I couldn’t so much as wiggle my fingertips within them, as I continued to smooth the latex over my wrist I heard Martha saying my name. I ignored her imploring tone and continued to don my opera glove. A few minutes later I was satisfied that my beloved rubber glove was back where it was necessary for it to be. I reached for the latex shiner liquid and squirted a blob onto the palm of my unhurt hand before I began to spread the glossy lubricant up the never ending length of my thankfully re-gloved arm. I was aware Martha was watching me tenderly caressing my black rubber encased arm and that she was also aware that it was making not just my arm slippery and wet.

“I’m sorry Alison. I scared you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You do know that, don’t you?” She asked me, looking up at me though the copious fringe of false lashes. I found it easier to ignore her beseeching voice when I knew my own carpet of false eyelashes hid my eyes from her.

I saw that the whip was no longer grasped in a vice like hold in her leather hand, it was dangling tentatively between her shiny black thumb and two of her tightly sheathed fingers. I strutted towards her now seated form, thankful for the advantage in height I had over her thanks to the stratospheric height of the heels and the platforms on my crotch high leather boots. I snatched the whip from her limp left leather glove with the dry palm of my glossed up glove. I gripped its handle, enjoying the way that rubber of my glove wobbled and groaned at the wrist as I flicked the whip, observing with longing the way the shiny lubricant on the back of my whip holding black rubber arm made me feel sexier and more powerfully female than I had ever felt before, I felt invincible, like an Amazon.

I succumbed to my needs and made no attempt to disguise the fact in front of Martha. I allowed her to watch the unglossed glove that wasn’t holding the whip move under the hem of my rubber skirt and hitch it up so that she could see exactly where my thumb and middle finger were heading. I noted her hips beginning to roll in longing as she avidly stared at my gloved middle finger darting in and out of my vagina while my rubber covered thumb flicked my clitoris.

She groaned my name through lips plumped out with sexual longing and reached out for me with her soft black leather fingers. “Please…”

In my skintight rubber grip the whip cut through the air and smartly cracked against her leather hand which she withdrew with a whimper of pain and shock. I withdrew my soaking wet middle finger and languidly showed her just how slick it was until my gloved finger reached her open lips. She took my rubber finger in her mouth and licked it clean, sucking it with such fervour the latex of the finger sheath was stretched at the end into a floppy point, just as you get when you try to loosen the fingertip of a glove when you wish to remove it. Naturally, removing my glove was the very last thing on my mind. I smoothed the rubber of the sheath back down the shaft of my middle finger with a satisfying series of creaks while looking at Martha in the eyes, remaining silent as I smoothed the shafts of my remaining gloved fingers on even tighter, ensuring the latex of the glove was as taut and tight as it could possibly be on my hand. I passed the whip into that hand and continued smoothing down the rubber of my glove, it rumpled and groaned as I manipulated it, very much like Martha. I could see she was desperate to ram her hungry fingers into herself to bring herself to a climax. I watched her black leather right hand traverse the edge of the mini skirt identical to mine and the way she rolled her weight onto her left buttock so that gloved hand could work its way past the stiff leather of her thigh boot which jutted out and preventing her hand from fulfilling its mission.

Again, I wrong footed her with the swipe of the whip as it struck her roaming glove before it reached its destination.

I sat down beside her, the whip extended over my lap and hers, its tip resting on the glove I had struck with such force it had made her recoil. With the whip I continued to prevent her from moving her injured glove. I allowed the tip of the whip to dandle up and down against the glove leather, wholly aware she was desperate to check whether I had damaged the beautiful kid leather glove as well as the hand lost many hours ago deep inside its ink black depths.

“There’s no way I’m allowing you to ruin that glove doing that.” I told her.

“Is that right? How do you know that it isn’t ruined already from me doing that every single night in bed? For all you know this middle finger could be cracked and rotten from me wanking myself off. Imagine that… a custom made pair of shoulder high baby kid leather gloves, cut to the exact measurements of my hands, lined in the softest silk in my favourite colour…we’re talking ooh, £900 worth for these gloves and I’ve had them ten or so years….some of the most beautiful sumptuous gloves money can buy, pristine but for the middle finger of the right hand glove…”

“You wouldn’t do that. You’re far too precious about your gloves!” I seized her right glove by the wrist and turned it back and forth in my rubber hand. The recollection of the viciousness with which she had torn off the yellow rubber glove the night before passed before my eyes as I examined her leather opera glove in more detail, would she really deliberately harm her beautiful glove? True, the glove was a work of art, but as I looked closer I could see that while the rest of the finger sheathes were perfect, the middle finger was anything but. The leather was hard and I could see there was a two inch long tear resulting from a deep crack in the leather on the inner side of the finger. A scrap of frayed lilac silk was visible towards the root of the finger but there was none in the top two inches of the brittle finger tip. I carefully eased her finger out of the ruined glove by its long red painted nail. The leather of the glove’s tattered sheath remained hard as plaster even when her finger had been completely eased out of it and it hung down away from her leather palm.

“I tried mending it…. I even thought about throwing it away…I even considered going to see if I could get it repaired at a leather restorer, I mean, a glove this expensive…but how could I possibly explain how it came to be damaged in this way…” She shook her head, looking sadly at the ruined glove and the finger with its inch long scarlet nail protruding from it.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I tried to stifle it, after all, it was a serious point she was making…but really….my snigger became a titter which set Martha off too.

I reached for her hand dressed in the damaged glove, kissed her naked finger before manipulating it back into its mangled leather sheath.

“I think it’s got some life in it yet, the old glove. Don’t you?” I asked her. Martha didn’t reply in words but with a smile as I took her leather hand towards my crotch and allowed it to venture wherever it had dared to dream about.