It’s ironic, but every fetish queen should own large amounts of latex, but, do you know what? I haven’t got any. None at all. The reason for this is that the whole maintenance thing about latex puts me off a little. It would be far too much work for me unless I had a latex slave who would do it all for me, of course.
Last week I starred in an ad for Pacha Ibiza Perfume playing the role of a drag queen. Yes, that’s right, a female drag queen. I was supposed to be wearing a grey tweed jacket with a tight black corset covering it, black elbow-length gloves, a top hat with tulle draped over it to soften my scary drag queen make-up, a retro suspender belt with black seamed stockings and a pair of 20 inch high heels.
When I was getting dressed for the night shoot I was told that, because I was a fetish queen, a pair of black, latex stockings had been bought especially for me. The wardrobe crew looked worried. They were also latex virgins but at least they’d been given instructions on how to fit the latex on my long legs.
I was taken into the changing room with a female wardrobe assistant and there I confessed to her that I was a latex virgin. She nodded her head and handed me a packet.When I removed the latex stockings from the packaging they reminded me of the swimming socks they used at school to protect us from verrucas. It didn’t look promising.
The sound and dull appearance of the stockings was about as unsexy as I could have imagined. I had my foot and leg smothered in talcum powder and when I put my toes into the stocking it felt just like a swimming sock. It was rolled, slowly and awkwardly, up my leg and it was tough just to get it over my knee.
Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, the same process was repeated with my other leg. Both of us tried to roll them further up my thighs but it just wasn’t happening. Even if we could get them higher, I knew they wouldn’t stay up for long. I couldn’t help having serious concerns about keeping my latex virginity. Then, there was a knock on the door. Two guys from the wardrobe crew came in and I noticed that one was holding a little bottle of what must have been lube.
They both squeezed some of the contents of the bottle, they rubbed their hands together, kneeled at my feet. Then, taking one leg each, they began applying the substance to my feet and ankles. It was oil that they rubbed onto my rigid legs. I looked down at them and I wanted to close my eyes so that I could enjoy the feeling of their strong fingers, rubbing lubricant onto my latex covered legs.
It was like being given two latex slaves whose job was to urge and push their massaging hands further up my legs to soften my latex second skin. Suddenly the dull latex came to life and began to reflect every neon-tube in the room. The slaves looked relieved when they saw the change and they rubbed and rolled the soft latex up to the top of my legs. The material moulded itself to the shape of my firm thighs and I knew that the stockings would stay up as long as I wanted them to.
I watched my slaves pull the six straps of the suspender belt so that they could be fixed to the top of the stockings. I admitted that I’d never felt anything like the way they’d worked on me.
“It’s a hard job, but somebody has to do it” I said as I smiled a satisfied smile.
My latex cherry had been popped and I couldn’t have been happier. If you want to pop your own latex cherry, visit theses more-than-willing cherry popping princesses!