Description
by Candace Smith
Jerald’s mother works in a fetish club, providing sexual services while dressed in latex catsuits. She is murdered by a jealous co-worker, and the boy is raised by his father, a gravedigger.
Soon after his eighteenth birthday, Jerald returns to the club and learns the truth about his mother’s work. His personality splits, and Jerald is no more. He becomes “Tombstone”, and dedicates his life to seeking revenge. Soon, not only is he skilled in the trade he has learned from his father, but he is also providing a service for those seeking revenge on unscrupulous women who have caused the death of loved family members. The women are turned into living mannequins, encased in skintight latex and forced into submission for sexual use and abuse.
And then he finds the daughter of the woman who killed his mother, and Jerald is once again not so far from the surface of Tombstone’s personality…
Published: 2 / 2011 No. words: 39500
Style: BDSM/Bondage – Content: Strong – Strong BDSM Content, Bondage/BDSM Fetishes, Sado-Masochism (SM) 
Tombstone worked silently, coating the plaster head first with a releasing agent, and then a build up of rubber. The mask would be made of a thinner compound and slightly more pliable than the rest of the costume he would make her. He selected the dye from his many colors and stirred it into the bucket. After applying each coat, he smoothed around the edges of the mouth opening, eyes, nostrils, and ears, patiently drying each of the five thin coats until the mask had a thickness just shy of a quarter inch.
It was a remarkable compound that had the appearance of being a solid glossy finish. In reality, there were indiscernible pores through the surface to let the skin breathe underneath. It had taken two days for him to finish the mask, and he sat back to look at his creation. The woman, Claudine? Tombstone shrugged. Her name made no difference. She had been pacing and dragging the chain, and he only saw her when he fed her, ordered her to shower, and lifted her in and out of the casket to sleep.
Tombstone stretched the rubber off the form, already imagining it surrounding her head. His cock jerked and his balls filled with warm excitement. He rubbed his stiff rod. Soon. He had tried having sex with them when he captured them, but he quickly softened in disgust and went limp. Only when the shining latex covered their heads and eventually their bodies, could he thrust to triumphant climax as a reward for his artistic accomplishment.
For two days he had left her alone, and Claudine was nervously grateful. She knew it would not last forever, and despair set in when she discovered no possible way to escape. She was sitting on the floor, her stretched lips slightly raw from where she had rubbed against the wall, trying to dislodge the ring. When she looked up, she was startled to see him approaching her with a sadistic shine illuminating his blue eyes. Claudine whimpered and pressed into the wall.
“Up.” He grabbed her arm and lifted her.
He’s so strong. Claudine trembled when he unhooked the chain to lead her to the other room. No, oh please. She sobbed, her tongue sweeping wildly around her mouth while her toes tried to grip into the rough plank floor and her legs straightened, pushing back in protest. A large hand smashed down on her bottom, stinging and heating her cheeks. Claudine was horrified to feel a leak of arousal drip from her pussy.
Again she was bound to the chair with the cool leather belts. The man removed her collar and she shrieked when she saw the rubber mask. It was so form fitting and tight, it took fifteen minutes to squeeze it over her head. Another fifteen minutes were spent pulling her hair through a two-inch opening at the top and lining up the edges of the face holes. Claudine already felt smothered.
The mouth of the mask curled around her lips, secured so that her tongue could not push the edges out of her mouth. He tested the patch he had made for the opening. It was made from the same latex substance and adhered to the other surface. Claudine had an insane thought of when she was a little girl, sticking shiny plastic outfits on a glossy cardboard doll. Tombstone removed the mouth patch and stuck it to the latex on her forehead.
There was a nose covering and ear coverings, as well. The ear patches had a thin ridge of foam and tiny speakers protruded and filled her canals. The last patches went over her eyes, and she blinked, feeling the edge of the mask brush the rim of her lids before he sealed out the light. A moment later, the speakers began a slow, deep litany… and Claudine screamed when she heard Donald Strickland’s voice.
“You are a white trash slut, Claudine. With the help of my associates, your death certificate has been recorded along with an updated will. You amassed a handy sum from those men you grifted… enough to finance most of your incarceration, thank you. You stupid little whore. You had no idea what pros you were dealing with.
“Didn’t you think I’d seen your kind before? Flaunting your tits and cunt at my son, making promises you never intended to keep. Donnie was weak, Claudine, especially when it came to the need for a woman’s love. Me? I’ve never been swayed by that crap. Sluts have two purposes: producing heirs and fucking. You screwed me out of my heir, Claudine. You won’t escape the fucking.”
“No doubt Tombstone will prepare you as I have ordered. He has successfully aided several of my friends with irritating problems, such as you. After he’s finished creating and training you, he will deliver you back to the estate for six months. I’m afraid your days of spa baths and luxury are over. I have other plans for you before I return you to Tombstone for good.”
The speakers hummed static for a while, and then Strickland’s voice repeated his speech. Over and over in darkness, the smell of fresh latex in her nose, the sticky feel of rubber over her eyelids… and fingers stroking her pussy, up and down, in and out; stopping just short of letting her climax. Her panting breaths gasping in frustration through the mouth opening, her pussy leaking onto the chair in a constant drool… up and down, in and out.
The hands stopped, leaving her pussy sensitive and her walls gripping for release. She felt the collar locked around her neck, and then the tight leather belts securing her to the chair began to loosen. A hand gripped her arm, pulling her to stand just as Donald began his accusation again. She sobbed and wailed, hearing none of her cries, imagining she could.
Blindly guided to a table, she was bent over backwards with her feet on the floor. A boot batted her ankles apart and she rubbed the back of her head on the metal surface, trying to work off the mask. Without warning, a cock thrust into her, and her body shuddered and strained. A finger spread her pussy and began stroking her clit. She was already so sensitive and close to erupting that her hips began a humiliating thrust, embedding his huge rod deeper… in and out, in and out… Oh, god. Even the sound of Strickland’s voice could not squelch her burning, and Claudine’s muscles gripped tightly around the cock of the frighteningly handsome man who had done this to her.
Perhaps, that was the worst torture of all. In the dark quiet of the coffin, Claudine’s mind wandered to the man. He was tall and lean, with sweeping wavy locks of blue-black hair. His eyes were such a light blue that they appeared to be made of tinted glass, piercing with passionate intensity. His features were strong and determined, and his voice was a deep, low, menacing sound. She found herself dampening, flexing her core in the darkness, imagining him fucking her like he was doing now.
In and out, in and out… with a well practiced hand strumming her clit. She moaned and gasped to the drone of Strickland’s insults, finally wrapping her thighs around blue jeans and forcing the jerking, spewing cock fully inside her while she climaxed. Her muscles spasmed against his cock, milking and encouraging his eruption.
With the sounds in her ears, she could not even concentrate or consider her debasing performance. Her body felt electrified, and when a hand stroked over her breasts she pressed her tight nipples against his palms, craving one soft touch, a gentle caress of appreciation. Sharp pain radiated through her tips as his fingers twisted and pinched. Instinctively, Claudine understood that this man would never reward her demands, and her mind echoed with her desperate moan.
Over the course of weeks, Strickland’s voice joined with the white static and Claudine was no longer taunted by his words. In her dark rubber mask she waited, slowly following the length of the pipe, memorizing the steps until she bumped into her encasing wooden bed, feeling the stones from the bathroom under her bare feet, praying strong hands would stop her pacing and guide her to eat or lead her to the other room and once more quench the dripping desire between her thighs.
She had been fitted with a molded top that covered her fingertips, sealed to her mask, and ended just below her waist. The material was much stiffer than the rubber of her mask. Her breasts chilled in the air, exposed and squeezed through holes that were purposely cut a little too small, forcing her large mounds to project lewdly. Claudine imagined they looked magnificent, and she rubbed them against the man whenever he was near. He would slam them together between his palms, twist her nipples, or slap them until they reddened. Although she knew he would torment them, she continued to try to coax his attention.
Her wrists were unlocked when he pulled on her top, sliding first her arms through the sleeves and working her breasts through the openings. It closed in the back with a sealing, permanent, adhesive. Within a few days she had matching pants, with a gaping slice in the crotch. She barely remembered the burn of the cream permanently denuding her labia. Her feet were covered, with each toe fitting into its own custom pocket and a spiked heel permanently affixed to the back. It too was made out of rubber, and widened to a non-lethal flange on the bottom.
Claudine shivered when she felt the man lean her over the table. Please god, yes. The time spent blindfolded into darkness with only Donald’s echoing words to accompany this madness, had caused her to desperately desire the man’s infrequent touches. Claudine could practically feel his cock driving into her, and her pussy was dripping and ready.
