Lazy Sat’day Afternoon
The wife’s in the kitchen. Dinner will be a long time yet. Time to read my book for a while. It’s going dark, and the thermometer is plummeting, heralding another cold night. I can’t be bothered to turn a light on, so I turn my swivel rocker, so that I can put my “socked” feet up on the adjacent settee, and read by the light spilling out from the kitchen, which is now behind me.
The noise, when I think about it, is cacophonous. I wonder about my wife’s ability to throw crockery and cookware, into cupboards, from a distance of ten feet or more. At least, that’s what the noise suggests. Industrious, that’s what it is. I did offer to help, but she said that she could cope nicely, and she would call, if she needed me.
It’s too early for a drink, so I make do with a cup of tea. There’s time for a snifter, later. After all it is a Saturday. I’m getting on with my book alright. It’s a Jean M. Auel, book. One of a series of five, about life back in the stone ages. I must say they captured my imagination from the start of book one, and I am now well into book three. I guess that I have been sitting here reading for about three quarters of an hour already, with the kitchen concerto progressing nicely behind me, when suddenly, the lights went out.
I thought there had been a power cut. In fact, the wife had put her hands over my eyes.
She quietly said, “Don’t move a muscle. Keep your eyes shut, tight”. Not knowing what the hell was going on, I was only too happy to comply. I then realised that the hands covering my eyes, were covered in rubber gloves. Beautifully smooth rubber gloves.
She began to move her hands away from my eyes. I kept them closed.
She spoke again, “Keep still, don’t move”; I didn’t.
She begins to move her fingers. Slowly. Oh so slowly. They trace the outline of my nose, down, around my nostrils, then start back up towards my eyes. On her way up my face, she slides her rubber gloved fingers on the edge of my nose, touching my cheeks. For what seems like hours, she caresses my nose area, down and back up to the corners of my closed eyes. Then around my eyes. Along the tops just below the eyelashes. So light is her touch, so as not to hurt me. Lingering on the outer corners of my eyes, and down along the lower edges, and back to the inside corner again. Moving away from the centre of my face, she arrives, slowly at my temples.
With my eyes firmly closed, I am focused entirely on the movement of her fingers.
I can feel two fingers on each side of my forehead. Circling slowly round, in a massaging motion. Now we are headed south to my ears. I know that nibbling your partner’s ear lobe is sexy, but so too is having one’s ears caressed with rubber covered fingers. There are so many nooks and cranny’s in the average ear, it can take a long time to explore them all. But now, not only can I feel those fingers driving me crazy, I can actually hear them, rippling, as the loose ends of the rubber fingers slip off the various ridges, and depressions of the aural cavities. And so, those fingers slide down the outer edge of the ears, to the lobes, and up the back of the ear, where there are more depressions to explore, where the ear joins the head.
But I know the best part is still to come. I know, because it is what I like to do for myself. But I know too, that it must be so much better, to have it done by someone else. But before that, the fingers are now flat on my cheeks. Something it is not possible to do for myself, with both hands on my cheeks at the same time. She is caressing my newly shaven face. The feeling of the beautiful rubber, on my face, is wonderful. My mind is split in two. Half is saying “go for it”, and the other half is saying, ”take your time, I can wait”.
She is stroking my face, taking in the sides of my nose, down to my jaw line, down under my chin, to my neck, and back up around again.
Then there it is.
All I could ever wish for. Maybe not the ultimate, but very close to it. She moves both hands down, under my chin, and strokes that area around my throat. Then she moves to what is probably the second most erogenous area of my body, my mouth.
Using her finger tips, she caresses my lips. Gently touching my nostrils. The corners of my mouth, tracing my upper lip, teasing my lower lip and chin. I think she is using her right hand now, as her left strokes my neck and throat. She places the flat of her hand across my mouth, stroking the whole area with the palm of hand. Not only can I feel the extent on her hand, but I can smell the fullness of the rubber odour, assailing my nose. I feel drunkenly full of the wonderful aroma of rubber. I cannot get enough of it. I do not want this to stop. If I could remain in one state, forever, this would be it. After several long moments of feeling her stroking my lips, with the flat of her rubber gloved hand, and the touch of the same area, and around my upper lip and nostrils, with her finger tips, she moves on.
She strokes my lips with what I can feel, is just one finger. Probably her index finger. One, two, three, four times slowly to and fro. On the fifth or so, passing, she stops, and slowly pushes her finger in between my lips. I automatically open my mouth, and her digit slips inside. I wrap my tongue around the rubber covered intrusion. I am now thinking how I would like it to be something else entirely, that was slipped into my mouth. Maybe that might be rubber covered too. But that is for a different time, and a different me.
I suckle on that finger. That marvellous rubber covered finger. I know that I am sucking the rubber, and not the finger. It is just co-incidental. A means to an end. There is no particular taste to it, but I can smell the rubber strongly, as this is happening just a small step from my nose. She answers my silent demand for more penetration, and I get to wrap my tongue around more of her rubber covered digit. At the same time, she is still caressing my jaw and neck with her other hand.
She removes her finger from my mouth, and for the first time in an absolute age, her hands are taken away from my face. I can hear a muted rustling. Then there is total darkness as she wraps my entire head, from behind, in the skirt of her rubber apron. I had totally forgotten about her working in her apron. There is not so much gentleness now, as she massages my whole face with the garment. She is driving me wild. I cannot get enough. I want to feel the rubber on every inch of my face, at the same time. She must know this, for she seems to place her double rubber covered hands, on every single, separate spot of my head. I am breathing in, and the rubber is sucked hard to my face. I open my mouth and she traces the indentation of the inhaled rubber, with her fingers. I have to suck this rubber sheet too. She stops moving her hands, then as the rubber sheet loosens around me, she oh so gently massages my face with that rubber creation. She holds a fold of the rubber to my lips, and as I breathe in, it is held to my mouth, and she slides the cool fabric across my mouth, so I can feel the smooth coldness on every millimetre of the lips area of my face.
There is only one step to come, to complete the process. But that is not going to happen. Not today anyway. There is a persistent pinging sound coming from the kitchen. The microwave is telling us that dinner is almost ready. The rubber apron is removed. She kisses me on the lips, and whispers those immortal words,” dinner in fifteen minutes. Can you lay the table?.
Maybe I will get the rest of the treatment later. Maybe.
Stories and fantasies about rainwear.
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