The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was a beautiful dry season afternoon. A cool breeze coming down the hills to the north, and the sky was clear. Just outside a pair of automatic doors, staring onto a concrete road and a sea of parked cars, a young girl with hair the colour of red wine sat over a black bag. She had her arms wrapped around her chest, red ballet heels contrasting with her dark clothes. She was impatiently tapping the concrete floor with her heels. Thirteen hours on a plane, then two waiting for a transfer flight, and then four hours on another plane had left her tired and irritated, yet not as angry as she was at her family. How come they were already two hours late? Yet again her eccentric parents had failed to meet the simplest of requirements of punctuality. She knew exactly what had held them up, but didn’t give them the satisfaction of thinking about it.

She sighed and stared down at her bright, red ballet boots. They were glossy, perfectly polished, with buckles and straps all the way to mid-calf. She was constantly haunted with the question that she never saw any other woman wearing such beautiful shoes; to her, ballet boots were the only truly worthwhile shoe wear a woman would grace her feet with. Instead she only saw them wearing boring and flat things that looked outright uncomfortable. Why, they might as well go barefoot.

A gust of wind brought her attention back to her dilemma. With a frown on her face she stared at the many travellers being picked up by their families or taxis; wouldn’t it be better to hail for a taxi and get the waiting over with? But just as she tittered to her feet she saw the familiar outline of her mother’s car coming up the road to the left into the Arrivals area. It was the same car that had dropped her at this airport ten years ago and it looked exactly the same. The girl of the ballet boots wanted nothing more than to frown and be angry at her unreliable parents, but she was too happy at seeing the trusty old green Honda that she couldn’t do anything but smile.

She walked closer to the road and saw the green car with blue flames park just in front of her. Her mother had replaced the stained windows, making it impossible for her too see what was inside. Didn’t change the fact that she knew and dreaded seeing what her parents were wearing.

Both doors opened in unison.

Two persons dressed in unconventional clothes walked out. The driver—the girl’s father—was short and slim, with a shaved and smooth face; his body was slender and almost feminine, but he kept it in considerably excellent shape. Not grotesquely muscular, but fit enough to make people look twice before bothering him. He was wearing a tight, pink t-shirt, black jeans and, to the girl’s embarrassment a pair of black ballet boots just like hers.

Her mother, on the other hand, was much public about her alternative lifestyle. She was tall and well-endowed, with a slim waist made tinier by constant corsetry, long legs, wide shoulders and somewhat wide hips. All of her attributes, safe for the colour of her skin and hair, were enhanced by a rubber catsuit—the mother was covered from head to toe with a thin layer of rubber. Even her face was hidden behind a mask that only allowed access to the eyes, nose and mouth. The girl could also see that her mother was wearing an exact replica of her daughter’s ballet boots. Luckily for the girl and her social empathy, her parents had the sensibility to dress in what probably were their less scandalous outfits. Even so, the stares came in numbers.

“Valeria! Mi hija, regresaste!” Cried the mother as she embraced her child.

“Mam‡!” Valeria cried in astonishment, happiness and even embarrassment as she embraced her mother. She felt the tight material covering her mother’s body, the sort of outfit her parents had, for years, coerced her into wearing. The smell of rubber felt almost like nostalgia. She could feel the amazed stares of the many people around as she felt her mother’s ample bosom on her own. For now she didn’t care; she was back home to her family. She was happy.

“How was the trip?” Asked the father, his smooth features lighting with a soft, caring smile, his lip-gloss glistening even in the shade; he walked towards his daughter, the click-clack of heels drawing flabbergasted attention to the feminine sway of his hips.

Somewhere in the distance a rude male voice cried “maric—n”—a word meaning fag. The family ignored it.

“It was great. I would love to tell you more, but I am so tired I could sleep for a year. Besides, I’ve been waiting for two hours for you to pick me up.” Valeria said, softly, in a way meant to hurt yet not so much. She moved away from her mother, who, to Valerie’s ignorance, was softly moving her hip from side to side and pushing her legs together every now and then.

“Oh, we are sorry about that,” Said her father, “We were having so much fun with a client that we, ehm, lost track of time.”

Valeria gave her father a mock astonishment look. “So important was this... what, teenage rich boy with a penchant for spanking? that you didn’t care about getting here on time? To your own daughter’s comeback?”

“Well...” Her mother began.

“You still owe me for that,” Valeria interrupted as she moved a stray strand of wine-coloured hair from her face.

“We will make it up to you, we promise,” Said Valeria’s rubber-clad mother with a very erotic tingle to her voice, her gloved hands mindlessly caressing her corset.

“Nothing kinky, please,” Valeria said, knowing very well what her mother’s tone meant.

The mother sighed, disappointed.

“Very well. Nothing kinky,” Said the father with almost-disappointment. He looked back at the line of cars coming up the road and gesticulated to Valeria’s bags. “Okay, lets get those bags into the car, we’re making a traffic jam here.”

“I’ll do it, Carlos,” Said Valeria’s mother with a naughty smile on her face and a bizarre eagerness that made Valeria’s social peril sensor start acting up. But she rationalized that there was nothing obscenely kinky about carrying some bags so she let it go. Besides, she was so tired that she couldn’t complain about someone trying to help her.

“Go ahead, Maria,” Said Carlos with a shiny smile on his face as he crawled into the driver’s seat.

With a smile and a dreamy face the rubber-clad woman softly wrapped her black fingers on the bag’s handles. Maria simply loved being subservient—the idea filled her with a excitement and peace—besides, every step she took reminded her of the rubber encasing her whole body and the humming intruder between her legs. She lifted the heavy bags with ease and carried them with careful and slow steps towards the car’s trunk. Every step made into an erotic dance in which Maria’s only companion was a soft her own contained, yet growing, arousal. Valeria noticed her mother’s increasing panting and the strange, buckling sway her hips; but she was too tired to think about it. Valeria looked away as soon as Maria’s movements became erratic and she began to pant. Great. What I needed—a scene. Valeria thought as she slipped into the back seat.

The humming echoed throughout Maria’s rubber suit, slowly coming from between her legs and making her whole body shiver with pleasure. The long drive to the airport, plus her husband and Master’s sexual taunting on the trip, had placed her quite near the edge. The extra effort of hauling her daughter’s bags unto the trunk, and the idea of being subservient, forced her to cross over the edge. Maria bit her lip and moaned unto her rubber forearm, her swaying hips buckled and pushed against the car’s bumper, forcing the intruder deeper into her sex.

“Mam‡!” Valeria cried from the back seat, her eyes wide with astonishment, her face red with embarrassment. She looked around the airport folk, avoiding eye contact with those who heard her mother’s moan. Valeria immediately averted her gaze from the people and walked out of the car and towards her mother, placing herself between the lurid stares and her panting mother.

“What did you do!?” Cried Valeria unto her mother’s encased ear.

“Don’t... don’t you talk to me like that, La-Latexia!” Her mother commanded in between pants as she still mindlessly pressed her legs together.

“Don’t call me that. You know I don’t like that name.” Valerie whispered, her hands defensively resting on her chest. She moved away from her mother with respect.

“Hmmm...” Maria moaned as she straightened her body, allowing the intruder to vibrate its way out of her sex, but not quite, “That was good, Latexia, you should try it sometime. A vibrator and rubber encasement in public. Yummy.”

Valeria sighed. “I... You know I don’t like it.” Valeria whispered, her face turned towards the horizon. She knew that her mother only called her by that name when she taunted her about joining into the fetish world. They tried for eleven years, when are they going to realize I won’t join that world?

“Oh, well, sooner than you think you’ll learn to love it,” Maria said, a smile outlined by her rubber, before she walked towards the passenger seat. She opened the door and saw her husband shyly rubbing the outline of his sex through his jeans. A grin came over her lips. “Stop that, Carlos,” She said as she crawled into the car, “You are going to upset Valeria.”

“Me? Upset her?” Said Carlos with a merry tone and a mock-insult look on his face, one hand faintly rubbing his sex, “After what you did back there—which, by the way, was amazing—I doubt I can do anything to upset her.”

Maria frowned.

“Today.” Carlos smiled and kissed his wife.

“You’d be surprised, Master,” Maria said matter-of-factly and then giggled merrily. Thirty years and Carlos still managed to make her feel giddy and happy.

“Alright,” Said Carlos with a sight and a smile, “Hey, Valeria, come on and get into the car! We’ll be late.”

Now he’s worried about being late? Dumb. Valeria was trying as best as she could to ignore the stares of the travellers and whatever sexual activity her parents were talking about. She absentmindedly stared at the beautiful mountains to the north when her father’s voice brought her attention back to the car. Suddenly Valeria realized how tired she was and how much she wished to go home and crawl into a bed. She crawled into the car and sat behind her mother. A frown came upon her brow as she felt something pressing against her bum; she wriggled and moved a hand underneath her and shrieked as she recognized the object’s shape in her hand. She threw the dildo to the back of the car. “Pap‡!” Valeria shrieked.

“Don’t look at me, darling,” Carlos chuckled as he stared the car’s engine and grabbed the wheel, “It was your rubber mother’s idea.” And as he said that, Maria’s rubber hand moved towards the car’s radio and pressed the play button; soft, relaxing music suddenly began to fill the car. The soothing sound of fiddles, flutes and drums—dum da dum—poured out of the speakers and into Valeria’s ears.

“It was a gift. Thought you might need a new one.” Her mother’s eyes were shinning.

Valeria gave her mother a frown and a pout but in the end smiled at her mother. “Hah. New one? As if!”

Maria turned back to stare at the road, leaving Valeria to brood and sink into the car’s seat, angry at her mother for trying once again to force her into the lifestyle. But Valeria’s ill temper soon faded as the combination of the seat’s leather softness, the soothing music, and her own exhaustion carried her into a most-needed sleep.

There was a house filled with hundreds of bodies, some male and some female, all with shiny skins and moaning mouths. Before them sat a woman wearing ballet heels and a rubber hood. She was naked.

She was calm and collected, enjoying the throbbing power of the phallic device between her legs, the experienced caresses of the hands of many a shiny slave, and the echoing sound of flutes that filled the whole edifice with echoes that gave no real indication to where they might be coming from.

Suddenly she called for a slave, her voice a language of moans and groans of pleasure. She made the slave act as a chair for her to recline on. Then other slaves joined in, forming a throne of living latex and carried her into a room where a single male slave was chained to the wall, his encased head touching the floor and his boot-wearing feet grazing the ceiling. The hooded lady had her slaves carry her to this specially bound creature; she stared at it for a while before she extended to touch the creature’s latex face...

Valeria realized someone was shaking her as she opened her eyes and returned to the realm of the living. Her father was smiling at her. She closed her eyes again and groggily said she wanted five more days, but her father shook her once more and told her they were already home. Valeria rubbed her eyes and looked, with happiness, at the two-storey house; she smiled at the familiar sights and got out of the car.

She asked her father about her bags as the sound of their heels echoed on ceramic tiles. He told her that they were already inside and that she should only worry about sleeping. Soon they were going up the stairs and Valeria wondered when they had crossed the kitchen and living room; she stopped thinking about it as she saw her old bed, still the same as she left it years ago. Ten years away studying and working and she recognized the place to be exactly as she had left it.

Soft blankets and caring hands caressed her naked skin, leading her towards another dream of rubber and submission and faceless slaves. Dream? She didn’t dream about that, never. Valeria found it strange that the thoughts she so hated were coursing through her groggy mind; but soon she found herself cuddling on the bed, her father kissing her forehead. Valeria felt the blankets rubbing against her naked skin and her ballet boots. Her mind barely registered the latter. She was on a soft bed and all thoughts were expelled.

She heard the click-clack of her father’s heels move around the room. He was fidgeting with her old stereo and suddenly soothing music began to fill the room. Valeria brought her legs closer to her chest and mindlessly rubbed her ballet boots with a hand before she fell asleep. Dreams of rubber and submission and a world where chocolate is toxic begun to crawl inside her mind.

Shiny human figures acted as walls and ceiling to the long and dark hallway. It extended on both sides beyond the infinite, a song of moans of pleasure and groans of obedience echoed above the almost inaudible hum of flutes and drums. Somewhere in the cacophony of instruments, the distinctive sound of heels meeting with cold, hard floor turned into the centrepiece for a symphony of pleasure. A tall woman dressed in a bright purple latex gown walked down the hallway; two slaves carrying the long, cape-like hem of her veil from which tiny latex-clad figures crawl every three steps to grow into new slaves.

The proud woman heard her slaves moan and struggle against their bonds, all wishing to touch and worship their Mistress’s body as she passed before them. One slave in particular, a slender man with no features and with latex skin darker than night, moaned in a peculiar way that made the Mistress turn her head towards him. She extended her purple hand and touched the slave’s cheek, whispering something in a language made of emotions. There was something familiar about this slave. He sighet, his body weakening at her touch. The chains binding him to the wall loosened. The slave hung limp from the wall, chains holding his hands backwards and his hip in place; his feet never touched the ground and his face dared not look at his Mistress.

The Mistress smiled a featureless smile as hundred more slaves crawled out of her dress, their first breath into the world made only of submission. She placed her hand upon the slave’s groin and whispered...

Cold water fell on Valeria’s body washing away the most concrete parts of her dream, and drowning the most illusory. Every drop and every stream of cold, delicious water took away part of her dream until she was left with only the memory of enjoying it. Curious how there were things you could enjoy without really knowing or understanding what they were. Valeria didn’t know what she dreamt about, but she was sure it was delicious.

She got out of the shower and walked back into her room to find a black rubber skirt and rubber top on her bed—another of her mother’s attempts to make Valeria join and indulge in their little fetish world. Over the years Valeria had learned to ignore the futile attempts of her parents. She remembered the first time her mother had tried showing Valeria the good things about rubber fetishism with a pair of shoulder-length gloves. But Valeria had utterly detested them. But Maria wasn’t a woman to be stopped by a single outburst from a shrieking child—even less her own—and kept going at it. Her father was more tactful, buying Valeria a lot of high-heeled shoes—increasing the height of the heel by year—and lots and lots of pantyhose. Valeria remembered once finding a vibrator next to some handcuffs and a latex hood.

Valeria smiled and sat on the bed. I broke a window with the cuffs and screamed so loudly dad burst in to see what was wrong. He was wearing a skirt. She held the memory with mixed feelings. She got rid of the cuffs, but the punishment her mother had given her for wasting good cuffs taught her to get rid of their gifts in a less conspicuous manner. The hood she gave to a friend and the vibrator... Valeria smiled wickedly.

Her mother had failed with the rubber and S&M fetishism, and her father had made Valeria hate nylons instead of loving them. But they did manage to make her love her ballet heels. She wouldn’t go a day without wearing them, even if she was just going to stay at home, relaxing. Valeria couldn’t exactly say when she started wearing them, but when she tried to remember she would get a floaty, pleasant feeling and her mound would cry for attention; which she would promptly attend to and, without her realising it, whisper something over and over.

Her parents had made her hate their fetishism. They had fed at her teenage rebellious self in such a way that it marked her for life. Valeria didn’t do things she didn’t like, she didn’t comply with rules she thought were ridiculous, and she didn’t give into when other people tried, desperately, with too much eagerness, to pull her into a world she was not familiar with.

Valeria gave her ballet boots a look before she started to dry them off. Finally she decided to mock her mother by wearing a jean skirt and a silk blouse. Hungry, she walked out of her room, past a white hallway and down a beige flight of stairs. The house felt colder than she remembered. Air conditioning? She wondered. One of the reasons she had come back to Panama was to get away from the cold of Finland. She didn’t like cold.

Valeria saw her mother’s head outline protruding from the back of a couch. She quietly—as quietly as she could walk in towering heels—went to greet her mother good morning. She saw her reading a novel and a cup of tea on a little coffee table on the side.

“Hey, mam‡,” Valeria said, “Say, why is this place so cold?”

“Buenos d’as, Valeria,” Maria said, a disappointed look upon he rubber-encased features as she saw her daughter’s clothes, “Oh, we had a central air conditioning system installed some years ago. You know, it’s more comfortable to be encased when it’s chillier.” Valeria gave her daughter a knowing smile, which didn’t look like a smile at all through a layer of latex.

“More ways to be kinky, I see,” Valeria said as she stared at her mother’s new outfit and click-clacked towards one of the many leather sofas in the room, “You are just going to wear rubber while I am here, right?” She sighted and sat right across her mother. She looked around the living room, noticing it had been painted blue, that there were more paintings on the walls, and that the curtains were black. In the corner, the old television had been replaced by a statue of a dog.

“Of course, Latexia,” Maria said with a smile meant to disarm her daughter, “I can only wear rubber and latex now.”

The choice of words made something ring in the back of Valeria’s mind, besides the cringe she got at being called Latexia. She gave her mother another look. As usual, Maria was encased in rubber. Her body was hugged by a thin, skin colour catsuit from toes to neck. Her head she covered with a thick hood of green rubber with attached welder-styled goggles; and a hole for her long, red hair to come out as a ponytail on the top of her head. Her hair was wrapped in a foot-long tube that held it straight in the air before it tumbled down her back. She looked strangely beautiful. Over her second skin she wore a crimson-and-blue outfit consisting of a corset that gave her and exaggerated hourglass figure, a pair of shoulder-length gloves, a bikini top, a pair of latex shorts, and a leather belt.

“What do you mean... ‘can only wear’?” Valeria gave her mother a searching look.

Maria smiled through the latex. “Well... let’s just say it hurts to not have it on. I am now encased all day and night.” Maria suggestively ran a finger down her chest. “I love it.”

Valeria remembered how her mother used to spend most day encased, but back then they didn’t have air conditioning so her mother could only be encased for short hours. Some days she would forgo encasing herself since it took too long and it wasn’t worth it considering the heat. And even so, her mother had been sensitive enough to not wear rubber when working out—which her mother did religiously—and would not sleep in it unless... Valeria didn’t want to remember the time she found her parents doing... that.

“All the time? Hard to believe. You still work-out, right?”

Maria nodded. “I got a special work-out outfit.” She winked. “Otherwise I wear thinner rubber or don’t quite encase myself.”

Valeria was still unconvinced. “It gets too fucking hot in this country to do that, mom. How do you do when you go out?”

Maria laughed a muffled laugh. “I plan.”

Hopeless, Valeria thought. She wouldn’t be getting any information out of her mother like that. Instead she said, sarcastically, “Nice try with today’s outfit. I wonder what you’ll do tomorrow.”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Maria said, “You’ll see. Tomorrow shall be different. If not, then, the day after.”

Valeria rolled her eyes and ignored her mother’s attempt at being cryptic, “Anyway, I got you some gifts. Where are my bags?”

“Over there,” Valeria’s mother turned around and pointed towards the bags in the dining room.

Valeria smiled. At least that hasn’t changed. Over the years Carlos had taught her children to carry their own loads as a way to teach them self worth. As soon as he saw they were capable of carrying their heaviest toys around he didn’t help them carry anything unless they really couldn’t.

Valeria silently stood up and walked towards her bags, the clicking of heels not registering in her mind. She opened her plastic bags and began to rummage around the mess of clothes and plastic bags. While she was distracted, her father came into the dining room, the click-clack of his heels a noise no one really noticed in that household. All morning he had been holed up in his studio, obsessing over one account book or the other. He was wearing a blend of his fetishes, his feet were clad in a pair of leather ballet boots and a pair of black-coloured pantyhose—something his wife had insisted for so long and he now found himself enjoying.Carlos had been reluctant at first to publicly indulge in his love for feminine garments—he found them a thousand times more comfortable than the things they sold for men—but thanks to his wife’s most unorthodox practices he was able to feel utterly comfortable being a public, fetishistic crossdresser. Thinking about it made him remember that he had never had such a strong obsession over nylons. He looked at his wife sitting on her chair and was reminded that he had plenty of payback for that.

He was wearing a latex bodysuit that covered everything from his mid-tights to his neck; over these he sported a latex harness with three metallic hoops over his torso and one metallic collar that immobilized his neck. His head was covered by a heavy rubber hood that instead of holes it had zippers all around; two small ones where his nostrils were, one over each eye, and one zipper over where his mouth would’ve be seen if it wasn’t for the padlock keeping said zipper tightly closed.

Carlos tapped Valeria’s shoulder and smiled that wasn’t seen by the world like a man serving capital punishment in the deepest, darkest dungeon there is. Valeria kept rummaging through her bags and slowly turned her head around; the smile she had on her face disappeared as her eyes went wide and she lost her balance, her left hand supporting all of her weight and crushing something inside her bag.

“Pap‡!” She cried, staring at her father’s encased face with a surprised look on her face.

Carlos greeted her daughter, but the thickness of his rubber hood only allowed a muffled sound reminiscent of a snorting pig to be heard.

“What?” Valeria breathed, her frown taking a confused look.

Carlos waved his head around and rolled his eyes before bringing his right hand close to the padlock keeping his mouth shut, with his left hand he introduced the small key that dangled from his wrist into the padlock and removed it. He unzipped the hood and took a deep breath before saying:

“I said: Good morning. How did you sleep?”

Valeria, her eyes still twitching and her mouth slightly opened, turned towards her mother, who, seeing her Master walk into the room, was now kneeling on the floor with a smile upon her face. Valeria discovered there that her eyes could grow really, really wide. And that her voice turned into a croak when flabbergasted beyond safe measures.

“You just keep getting freakier by the month,” Valeria said, turning her head from her rubber mother to her latex father. She knew exactly what sort of relationship the two had, but she just didn’t want to be constantly reminded of how strange it was.

Carlos, seeing his daughter’s inability to respond a simple answer, frowned and placed his naked hands on his latex waist.“I believe I heard wrong, but I’ll say this nonetheless. Don’t you call us freaks, Valeria,” Carlos said in a most authoritative tone, his deep voice resonating in the room and making his wife tremble with excitement, “I taught you to respect other people’s tastes and life styles, and I taught you never to mock people. Correct yourself!”

Valeria stared at her father, her crouching position giving him that more of a towering and powerful figure and making her remember years ago when her father, dressed in similar outfits, scolded her.

“I am sorry...” Valeria said, averting her eyes from her father

““I am sorry” what?” Said the rubber father.

“I am sorry, Sir,” Valeria said submissively. She hated feeling so small, specially at home. Not once in her years abroad had she felt so... under someone’s control.

“That’s better, Latexia,” Smiled Carlos, “Now, answer the question.”

“Good. I had a good night.” Said Valeria, her face not looking at her father but at the spirals she mindlessly drew on the tiled floor. He knows I hate that name.

“Glad. You were pretty tired after the trip and you slept for over twelve hours,” Said Carlos with a smile before he turned and walked towards his kneeling and obedient wife.

Valeria smiled and continued looking for the gifts in question. Meanwhile, her parents simply hugged in a loving embrace and whispered conspirational words to each other.

Eventually Valeria brought them two items wrapped in a red cloth. As if a ceremony, her parents changed position; Carlos, naturally, sat on the chair and Maria kneeled on the floor. She idly moved her hand over her master’s thighs. Maria was utterly content.

Valeria unwrapped the gifts, showing her father a glass sculpture of a dragon. It was rather small, but intricately done. Every detail perfectly visible. Carlos cried in delight, “My god! Thank you, Valeria.” He held the figuring with reverence and inspected it over and over. “Beautiful.” He whispered.

Valeria smiled, loving her father’s exaggerated reaction. He knew very well that she was going to bring him some interesting art piece.

She then turned her attention to the two remaining items, unwrapped a big, clear crystal bottle with a wide bottom and a thin neck.

“Here you go, mam‡,” Valeria said as she handed the bottle to her mother, “One bottle of vodka and, as you asked me...” She juggled the remaining item out of the cloth, “And a set of videos describing the whole of Finland’s fetish scene. Not as much as other places, but enough to entertain you a while.”

“Gracias,” Whispered Maria, staring at her gifts with joy on her face.

Satisfied with her parents’ reactions, Valeria walked to sit on a leather couch and enjoy the time with her parents. It had been years since she last saw them and she was content just to sit close-by. As Maria inspected her gift, Valeria found her eyes wandering over her mother’s dress. She looked at the fetish-wear with a mix of curiosity and restrain, never quite staring but not letting her eyes fall off the shiny clothing. Valeria was feeling curious, really; her recent half-remembered dreams were making her reconsider things. This was not the first time this had happened, and perhaps would not be the last. Every couple of months, when she lived in that house, she would have the dreams and wake wanting to know how it was to be a fetish-gal, but would shake the feelings off of her. But today’s feeling, it was different, like it had been there, hidden somewhere deep, and had just been reawakened.

Valeria was thinking of her dream, of how it left her aching to experience the fetish realm. She was trying to figure out why she was dreaming these dreams; had she not, during the course of her childhood, watched her parents dress in rubber and latex and bondage and never had an erotic-fetishist dream? Or she did have dreams of the kind, but was made to forget them. Valeria was trying to figure out, also, why the new feelings that were starting to crawl their way inside her head and heart as if newborn lizards out of their shells felt not new, but old and dormant at the same time.

“Where’s Geronimo?” Valeria suddenly asked, remembering, in between the haze of her thoughts, the existence of her younger brother.

Her parents stared at her with soft eyes and knowing smiles; her father’s eyes framed by zipper-teeth and her mother’s covered by a layer of rubber. They gave an air of trust meant to disarm and distract Valeria from their ulterior machinations, not that she noticed this; but she did see the slight apprehension and tensing of their bodies when she mentioned her brother.

“Oh, he’s around.” Maria eventually said matter-of-factly.

“But... where is he? I haven’t seen him around nor have I heard his usual noises,” Valeria said. “Although... does he even make that much noise anymore?”

“He is in his room,” Maria said softly, one hand rubbing the length of her white rubber trousers. “He spends most of his time there now days.”

“I didn’t see him in his room,” Valeria responded, “Now that I think about it, I didn’t even see his room at all. Whatever happened to his stuff?”

Carlos placed the bottle on the desk.

“Oh, he moved to the old guest’s room next to the playroom.” He added.

“But he hates people!” Valeria cried with disbelief, “And that playroom is where you meet your clients. New people everyday! I mean, he doesn’t even like to talk to family members and you always have strangers playing in that room.”

“It has been years since you last saw him, dear. He is changed.” Maria said with a singsong voice.

“Sounds like it!” Valeria said in the tone that one uses when simply acknowledging a very unlikely fact.

“He has found a new hobby that really, ehm, brings us closer,” said Maria. She turned her head towards her husband and master, with a longing smile and a submissive stare. “Can I stand, Carlos? I wish to show Latexia Fet- eh, Geronimo’s room.”

Carlos smiled, his features showing from the zipper holes on his hood, “You may stand, Maria,” He whispered, his stare on his daughter.

Maria the obedient slave, stood up, and walked towards the astounded Valeria. She placed a gloved hand on her daughter and slightly squished her shoulder. “Come on,” She cocked her head to the side. Reluctantly yet curiously, Valeria stood and began to follow her mother towards the guest’s room. As Valeria walked and wondered what was this new hobby her brother had found, her mind wandered back to her dream. Somewhere, deep inside her consciousness, Valeria wished her dream had somehow become a reality and that her brother was one of the endless slaves.

And Carlos? He stood as soon as the women were out of sight. He click-clacked back up the stairs and towards his office, to start the day’s machinations.

“Don’t tell me Geronimo is now part of your kinky games.” Valeria said with a smirk and a frown, hiding her wishes.

“Oh, of course, sweetie,” Said Maria, “Unlike you, Geronimo embraced our games and even shares his own kinks with us, which, by the way, are quite numerous and... deviant.” Valeria could see that her mother was softly shaking her ample bosom and rubbing her thighs together.

The two women walked into a long hallway, moving past frames of pictures and paintings. Here and there Valeria saw some of her old watercolours and memories came unbound. She smiled to herself.

In no time the two were before the door that led into the den of depravity and mystery. She could recall being both curious and terrified of that door. When she was very young she had accidentally walked in there while her parents were in a session. Perhaps it was that trauma that had given her so many apprehensions towards fetish. She had feared the door since. But now? Now she looked at it with a sense of curiosity. Perhaps university life had changed her, or perhaps she had grown past her childhood phobias, but something had changed. Dream-derived intrigue was what she was feeling. Her dreams and the echoing music in them filled Valeria with an expecting tingle of excitement—she ached to see whatever implements, whatever outfits and devices were behind that door.

Maria opened the door. A powerful scent invaded Valeria’s nostrils and she almost fell to her knees. Why did the smell make her body react that way? She was familiar with the scents of latex and... things she wished not to name. It had been a while since she had smelled something so strong, so fetishy. She had smelled her parents’ rubber in the car and in the house, but nothing like this. It was pungent, penetrating, filling, arousing. The thought made Valeria’s eyes widen. The scent was like pure fetish, pure desire. It made her think of sex, of love, of lust. Valeria realised she really, really liked the smell.

What is happening to me? She thought.

Absentmindedly she shook her head.

Maria led her daughter into a room with a high ceiling painted all in white, and a floor painted the colour of midnight. The walls were padded in thick layers of rubber, and where there was no rubber there were squares where chains and patches of wall with hooks were. Bondage devices were neatly secured to the hard concrete. The wide room had three doors, two of which led into walk-in closets filled, stacked, cramped with many a fetish outfit of all forms, make, style and taste; outfits made to indulge any and all forms of fetish. The third door, which was disguised as an almost indistinguishable marking on the rubber wall, led into Geronimo’s room.

Valeria was astounded; the room had become more complex in the years she had been absent. Several machines had replaced the three she had know, thse being more extravagant and dangerous-looking. She feared what they might be used for. The walk-in closets were a recent addition, and it was here where her attention lingered. She looked at what lay inside through the open door. could see some latex catsuits of different forms and some other simpler, yet erotic, outfits; Valeria felt her something move inside her, aching to go in there and try some of the outfits. Dum da dum, the drums echoed and the flutes sang inside her head.

“Geronimo moved into the adjoining room,” Maria said, her voice echoing a sound Valeria had heard before. “He likes living next to this room, that way he can indulge whenever he feels like it.”

“It’s just... I don’t know. It is strange for him,” Valeria responded. Singing. Her mother was singing to a tune; she realised. “I can’t think of my brother as one who would...” She moved her hand towards a chain dangling from the ceiling. “indulge in this.”

“You two were never precisely close, Latexia.” Maria began, in a soft tone. “Did he ever talk to you about himself? Did you ever listen to what he had to say? Oh, don’t say anything, Latexia. I always wanted you to be close, but you were just too different, too at each others’ throats. You didn’t know each other, not deeply.” Maria sighed. “And when you were gone he seemed a changed boy. He was more outgoing, more public about what he wanted. Geronimo, the one that came out after you left, was very different from the boy we all knew.” Suddenly she smiled under her rubber, turning towards her daughter. “Valeria, you changed. Ten years is a long time and people can change. You have to consider that.”

Her mother’s words cut through her like a hot knife through butter. She did remember their relationship as being rocky, distant even. Had the two really been that different? He had had his tastes; she had had hers. Valeria had found her brother too quiet, too nerdy—too different to truly get along with him. And she had never truly known what he thought about her. Geronimo had been very reclusive and very cold regarding his emotions. He never said what he thought or what he felt, perhaps fearing chastisement or ridicule. Perhaps he had been right, with a sister like Valeria.

Valeria sighed, looking around uncomfortably. Things have really changed. She thoughts. Or were they always like this and I am the one who changed? Or was I the one that kept them all from enjoying themselves. Valeria shivered. She hated bounding others, keeping them from being themselves. During those years she spent abroad she met people who wouldn’t do this or that just because they didn’t want to bother Valeria. She would tell them to ignore her complaints and enjoy themselves, but they never did. Even the boys she had dated had refrained from enjoying some things because of her. Could it be, perhaps, that Valeria had kept her family in a form of bondage for so long? The irony of the thought made her smile. A troubled smile, but a smile.

“Show me.” Valeria said, turning towards her mother.

Maria nodded and opened the door into Geronimo’s room.

Valeria walked in, slowly, with eyes downcast. No sound came from within. After a couple of seconds she dared look up. She lost her footing and almost fell backwards. Maria held her daughter firm, a devious smile hidden behind rubber.

Valeria’s eyes roamed a body suspended from the ceiling. It was completely wrapped in lycra, from head to toe, as if the fetish caccoon of an erotic butterfly. The black body was breathing, slowly, gasping from time to time through the opening around its mouth. A ballgag kept him from speaking, and Valeria somehow knew that he couldn’t hear nor see them stending there. His lips were curled into a smile, and that eased things for Valeria. He looks like he’s enjoying it.

“What...” Valeria said.

“Suspension. One of his favourites.” Maria walked over to the figure. Geronimo—if it was Geronimo—was dangling just over his bed, head inches from the covers. The room was filled with the things Geronimo liked: skating posters, his laptop, a collection of movies. “He loves encasement.” Maria’s hand touched Geronimo’s warm thigh and the boy within twisted and moaned like a trout out of the water. His moans echoed in the room, filling Valeria’s ear. She shivered.

“And.... all of this was his idea?” Valeria edged closer, but stopped herself when she realised what she was doing.

Maria nodded, letting go of her son’s leg. Was that pride behind her mask? Valeria couldn’t tell, but her mother’s body language hinted at it. How could she be proud of that? The answer came to her before she asked the question.

Doggedly Valeria neared the form of her brother. He looked fit, stronger than she remembered him. Geronimo had been a spindly, thin boy who could barely lift any weight; but the body before her was of some athletic man. She barely recognized him. Could it really be Geronimo? Have I been away for so long? Ten years is a long time.

Valeria reached to touch her brother, heartbeat increasing. Was it wrong that she found the whole set-up... exciting? She didn’t think on it. Her heart beat faster the closer her hand moved to her brother. In the background, her mother smiled. Suddenly Valeria remembered her dream, saw the images, smelled the scents, and heard the music. The music that sang to her right now, the music that drilled into her mind. She pulled her hand back, placing it under her armpit and wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes were wide, her breathing shallow. Valeria closed her eyes, calming down.

“I can’t believe this...” She started talking, saying the first things that came to mind so as to not say what she was really thinking. “It is him.”

Maria let out a disappointed sigh, muffled under the rubber it was barely audible. “Well, there you go. Your brother.” She turned her head towards the ceiling and then back at her daughter. “Best we left him alone—he gets too anxious when he knows there’s someone in the room.”

Valeria nodded absentmindedly. What had she felt? Curiosity? Fear? Arousal? She shook her head and walked out of the two rooms, heels clacking. Did I really dream that? She wondered, And why did the image of Geronimo...

“Nothing wrong, I hope?” Carlos said, his voice breaking through Valeria’s thoughts.

She looked up, looking at her father’s face. Suddenly she was glad for the distraction.

“I wouldn’t know, papa, I am not versed in bondage.” Valeria said, letting her hands fall to her sides.

“Fetishdoll is okay, sweetie; though he will need some attention in an hour or so.” Maria added.

Fetishdoll? Is that his nickname? Valeria thought.

Carlos cursed. “Damn it... I was hoping to have some time to myself today.” He ran his hand over his forehead.

“Well, it is your turn.”

Carlos cursed again.

The two started talking and Valeria took the opportunity to slip away, unnoticed. She had much to think on, but she didn’t want to. Instead she walked back to her room and called an old friend. She had to speak up, the music playing all over the house a bit too loud.