Slaves to Plastic: Mistress Molly

The train from The Midlands was quite busy. I could hardly sit still because my arse was so sore. The woman sat opposite, with her family, kept eyeing me suspiciously. Her gaze only added tension to my fervoured thoughts. I was sure she could hear my noisy plastic knickers as I shifted on my seat by the window. I didn't have time, back then, to change out of my kink. I had pulled on my jeans and fled.

Do not be deceived by Mistress Molly's sweet smile. She's an animal. Her toys are weapons of mass destruction. How wrong I was to underestimate her.

I fantasised about her on-line pictures for months. I imagined the smell of her dark hair, often worn in a ponytail. I longed to lick her soft tanned skin. I imagined bowing to her dark gaze. I pleased myself thinking about her muscular thighs. In my mind, her taut bottom was putty in my hands. I finally buckled. I booked a session and headed to The Midlands. It wasn't long before I fled.

Mistress Molly was taller than I had imagined. I could see she worked out. She definitely had a dark Italian look about her. I met her in a room that looked like a gym. But the fixings served different purposes.

"So, you're Sissy Steve, are you?"

I stood, quite manly, in my frilly pink PVC panties. The slippery plastic creaked as my nerve endings fired beneath her gaze. My balls tightened to the touch of my kink and the stern unblinking eyes of Mistress Molly.

"They're certainly pretty knickers," she laughed. "I can see that your femmy poppers match your baby-blue panty lining. Double layered plastic knickers. I wonder...," she trailed. Mistress Molly walked over to the window. Her black PVC boot heels clacked on the unvarnished floorboards. I began to think she was contemplative or indecisive.

"I wonder if they're fucking bullet-proof."

I nearly buckled. My slight nervousness turned to fear. I'm sure I may even have backed off. I certainly shrunk in stature.

Mistress Molly wore a tight, black PVC bodysuit. Her smooth legs rippled beneath her fishnet body stocking which stretched from the tops of her knee-high boots to her black plastic leotard hem.

"I wonder...," she leaned towards me, "if you can clean my boots."

"I'm sure I..."

"Shut it and clean," she snapped. "Rinse and repeat. Work that slutty little tongue in the folds of my boots."

I immediately set to work. That's when I was acquainted to her leather paddle.

"How. Dare. You. Fucking. Touch. My. Leg.," she spat. Her paddle slapped across my back with each staccato of her reprimand.

"Don't stop. Don't stop cleaning. Did I tell you to fucking stop?"

"N-N-No," I whimpered.

I licked her shiny kink with a new hunger. I could taste my own sweat as I cleaned. My back was screaming with pain but her PVC was luxurious. My plastic panties slid between my arse cheeks and pulled on my aching balls. How lovely the slippery fetishwear felt - both her's and my own.

I rocked back and looked up. My cock was straining to escape from my tight, buttery gusset. I started to rub my pink PVC panties over my erection.

"Don't look at me. Don't look at me! And put that filthy cock away."

Molly thrashed my back with her leather paddle. She caught my bare shoulder and my bum. She thrashed and thrashed me for attempting to masturbate on the job. Her gait was sure. Legs wide, I sensed trouble.

"I want that pathetic arse over there on that bench," she jabbed. "I can't tolerate 'fuck ups'. You can't even clean boots," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'm going to have to smash that Sissy arse."

Molly disappeared to a rack by the window. She was busying herself with a harness and a fat purple strap-on. I knelt on her leather couch to present the naughtiest hole. I was hoping she'd lubricate me first.

She peeled my kinky knickers away. They'd stuck to my skin. Already, the hot PVC was cooling as I felt air on my arse-hole. I felt her fake cock nudge my ring. Mistress Molly pulled my noisy knickers aside. My delicious fat plastic waistband pulled tightly away as poppers popped. She pulled me towards her with her other hand on my sweat-soaked shoulder. Her fake cock repayment for my inadequacy was search and destroy.

"Get ready to pay, you 'fuck up.'"

Molly's kinky black plastic creaked as she fucked my bum. It hurt. She was rough and it hurt. I moaned. "Oh, Mistress Molly - no. No. You're stretching...Oh, please! You're tra...- Oh. You're trashing my Sheriff's badge." She slammed deep inside my sissy hole. Her black PVC gusset pounded my balls. She screamed in my ear, "Slut. Sissy Slut," whilst banging my bum. Molly soon swept my G-spot. She filled me deep - again and again. I fumbled for my angry cock inside the crimped leg hem of my sumptuous PVC knickers. She pounded and I thrapped. I wanked as I thought about her perfect pussy. I imagined her tits spilling out of her plastic. I saw them wobble as she thrusted. Her plastic swept her cunt. Then I could think no more. I bucked. I arched and oozed sharp salted cream all across the leather couch. How she laughed at my gushing climax.

I fought for breath. Was she rubbing her clitty as I straightened up? I turned to get a better look. My eyes soon snapped away when I saw red hot rage in her deep, brown eyes. Her pupils stared dead with vengeance.

Mistress Molly was selecting new tools as I hopped off the bench. I winced so sore. I hot-footed across the floor for my jeans, rubbing my smarting behind. Sore bummed and ravished, I never looked back. I stumbled into my denim and fled.

Later, I didn't care if the train passengers could hear my spunk stickied knickers. I was past caring about further humiliations. As the train approached the train station and my cock brushed kink, I realised that I had to turn back. That venomous Mistress Molly had really left her mark on both psyche and flesh. This time, I wanted to get it right.