My Ever Growing Latex Fetish

My name is Miss Pearl, and in 2020 I confirmed I definitely have a latex fetish.

my ever growing latex fetish black latex gloves hanging to dry
My gloves, drip drying

You know, I kind of wish I’d found a cheaper inclination. Like, you know, meth, or Warhammer 40K. It’s probably the price, as much as the initial association with the marketing that put me off it.

My first real life latex fetish experience was the Swede wearing a clear singlet, one size too large, to go dancing. At time I found the texture of sweat and warm rubber interesting. Still, there was the two barriers: the cost and my association with the fetish with the very male gaze version of femdom. Full body latex was generally sold with the harsh, perfect dominatrix and the emotionally unreadable sub.

So, initially it was one of those things I decided I was neutral about. I figured if it popped up, I’d try it. But, life, to this point, didn’t give me a lot of freedom to do so, before putting down what is still a significant amount of money. Plus, I knew I liked more obvious things like corsets, so when I could afford it, there my money went.

This year was the down the rabbit hole. Plague year or not, my collection has, snrk… ballooned. Blame Silver, yes, but also this wouldn’t have been possible were it not for my own desires.

So, my latex fetish journey, after the jump…

Seeing play partners endure shredded latex did the most to put me off it. Nothing scares a broke baby kinkster away more than seeing your friend convert his new legging to hot pants. All it took was a little skid against the floor, to put a hole the size of my hand in them. On the first time wear! I learned it would basically shrivel in the face of exposure to sunlight, or oil, or heat. No. Thank. You.

In college, I was still buying most of my kink gear at clearance tables at Urban Planet. (Reader please note, pleather booty shorts come into season almost every other year). The closest to real kink intended shopping was a going out of business sales of a local sex shop. That was a depressing windfall, but a bounty nonetheless. However, there the red latex gloves I bought for a song proved too challenging to get on. Other than discovering that inner tubes from old bike tires made a fun alternative bondage material, that was it.

Then I went to Toronto, and ironically discovered the Montreal latex fashion designer Polymorphe

Northbound Leather was a first chance to try things on. They just happened to have a size medium, blue shiny latex hoodie dress, and I fell in love. Front zippered, easy and durable. The model in Polymorphe‘s catalogue doesn’t go it the justice it deserves. Not for her looks, of course. Blame her contrasting firey hair, and the copper tint the photograph gives her skin with the azure material.

On me, that blue hoodie dress was the first stirrings of a latex fetish for real. It transformed it from fabrics that (seemingly) exploded when you breathed on them and tasted bitter. Now I could believe I could not immediately destroy it, dress myself, and then there was the delicious squeezing…

The Squeeze of Good Latex.

I love all things that compress and wrap the body. I have a place in my heart for tailoring and flat lines, true, but oh, boning and straps and ties! Knits that caress around where I curve, or better cinching tight waists. Bind it, press it down, wrap in. With my desires including the spectrum of bondage and masochism, I have no shame to say I like my clothes to even hurt sometimes.

I only sort of joke that my first and most faithful submissive is my own body. (Other than the anxiety disorder and migraines, you brat!) I want it to hurt. Silver in first real explorations, picked up on that and knows the level of firm I like. I still have fond memories of him, reverent and looking on the valley of my bare breasts, asking, softy, “Biting?” Latex encasing me in no way makes me feel powerless.

If the dress hugged and slithered around me just so, it was still many years away from first try to purchase. Still, the thought of it lingered and inspired, looked at, and priced. The cost crept up a bit with inflation, but it was on the someday list, nonetheless. And it became an accidentally on purpose sexy seed, teasing Silver at first courtship.

“I might play a particular LARP character, but you know, just as an excuse to buy a latex hoodie dress. See? Here’s link.”

After our relationship became real, I bought that dress. I stubbornly would not let him buy it for me. Instead, I saved up and got it in a pandemic safe hand off from Deadly Courture. I had to do it for me.

The other purchase was the more ambiguously fated latex thigh high stockings from Eustratia. Her designs are amazing. The fit, when I put the stockings on for the first time, was like a shot of pure silky, sexy joy. But the feet developed cracks, and I mailed them back, where they languish in international repair limbo. Which is a tragedy, because she has some of the most unique designs out there. My pocket book is in serious trouble if I get back those stockings as they should be.

Silver’s contribution to my latex fetish has also been inspiring.

At the same time he and I were making metaphorical eyes at each other, he was also getting his first piece. A Libidex (his favourite retailer) black cat suit came on sale and he sent me pictures. As a result, I had the second sex dream about him ever. That was new record, as every other person to this point only merited one. But, something about the slim, sleek perfect blackness inspired something and I work up from vivid sense and visual memories of grinding myself on him to orgasm.

We followed that up with going shopping, in late January. Deadly Couture is apparently moving their physical shop from Gas Town in Vancouver. I will miss their elegant, split floor premises, but I am sure the new place will be just as good, post Covid. At the time it was an immersion into a wonderland.

Silver, for his part, had a delightfully entranced expression. We shyly poked around racks and bins of the Fetish corner of the shop, supervised by a woman in full latex, complete with galoshes on her feet. The scent in the air was a cloying, organic bitterness, pulling up memories of summertime tire swings.

We bought a hood and collar, and almost a form fitting dress with strategic red zippers, but my own shyness wouldn’t let him but that for me (yet).

Latex in play came next

The last in person visit before covid was Valentine’s 2020. I talked more about adventures with his latex cat suit here. As the relationship began to get more and more serious, in that month by month way you establish new normal, I came to trust Silver more. The result, ever increasing stretchy rubber gifts. A corset waisted pencil skirt. Stockings. Opera length gloves. Another sale has earned me a cat suit of my own, waiting for a try on.

Now he’s got a latex sleep sack and an armbinder, the former tested in a pre-election visit where I also took his technical virginity. There’s more stockings coming me way, and I honestly have no idea if he’ll succumb to temptation over Black Friday and produce another “surprise”.

I actually had to tell him to shop for himself a bit more too. I’m definitely enjoying the ability to do full outfits, but I kind of can’t wait to see what he gets to wear too.

And as I write this, that brand new cat suit is already begging for me to gloss myself up and struggle into it. Yum, perfect.

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