She awoke about ten hours later. The usual morning thing: The brightness hurts, the body clumsy and heavy, the purpose ... damn! She looked at the alarm clock: Hm, still early enough. Now her head slowly began to function. "It's still early, yes, I fell asleep soon after work. Because." And in only a second, the whole thought complex of the previous day exploded into her head. Instinctively she raised her hands and looked at them, though she knew ... latex. She opened and closed them firmly, enjoying the squishy sound of the material, and was surprised by the strong feeling of bright warm bliss this induced. It was a foreign sensation, beyond pleasure of touch she had known so far. It was as if ... oily latex euphoria, as a thick substance, was being injected into her palms and fingers, then very distinctly streamed into her arms, then finally faded away. Except it felt as if afterwards, she had somehow become more, as if her body, especially hands and arms, somehow existed more than they had before, had become more solid, massive, without being heavier.

She also noticed something else: Her beautiful dark prison seemed to have become a wee bit more silvery than yesterday, like it had been freshly polished with talcum powder. Her skin was not feeling irritated or to be in need of more oxygen like she sometimes knew from other latex nights, and she was happy about it - now she could just keep wearing her latex into the day. Well, as if she had a choice.

"Let's try to unzip it again and check it out." In front of the small mirror in the bathroom, she fumbled for the zipper handles, then remembered that she had not closed them the day before. Still the latex would not come off, still her white skin could not be revealed. "What has happened to me? What am I gonna do?" Thinking of her apple experience and realizing she still wasn't hungry, she just grabbed her toothbrush. "Right now it's not hurting, everything's pleasant, and I love latex. So what?" While thoroughly cleaning her teeth, she looked at the reflection of her face, smiled a little, relaxed her mind and - took a warm morning bath. The feeling of her own hot fluid streaming into her suit was blissful, how it felt as if it spread between her skin and the suit, making her all warm and wet.

When she washed the toothpaste out of her mouth she thought: "I might have a problem eating, but what about drinking?" She was quite thirsty. How long could she continue "solving" her pee problem like this? A few hours later she'd have to start looking like a balloon on legs. Maybe this would be a way to remove her second skin - to fill it with liquid until it would burst. But she didn't really believe that, and the idea of ever removing it made her gloomy.

Instead, she focused on dealing with pending duties. She collected her clothes and, realizing her laundry basket was quite full, carried everything to the washing machine and started the cleaning program. Then she picked up the phone - no signal. "Stupid." *fumble* "Ok, now it's working." She called in sick. Since she was doing this at most once a year, she didn't worry. Plus there were other quite proficient technicians on site, no problem for them to cope without her for a day. Phew. And now what? Drink test. She used the faucet in her kitchen to drink a sip of water from her rubber hands, and her body seemed to gratefully accept the gift. So she drank water, lots of it, with long, deep gulps, while some of the water ran along her so sensitive forearms, giving her shivers. Her whole body was brightening up, as if the water was breathing life into her rubber imprisoned flesh.

She grabbed a bread knife, one of those big ones you'd use on imagined burglars, loudly saying "I have a knife!" like an idiot, robbing yourself of the one advantage you'd have: The surprise. She carefully moved the incredibly sharp tip alongside one of the zippers. Just as she expected, it was like she was doing this directly to her skin, not as if it was covered by a 0.3 mm latex layer. She tried again with increased pressure. It was really hurtful. Damn, I have to know now, she thought, and pressed the dangerous tool strongly against the silvery black skin, moved it about a centimeter, then couldn't continue. The pain! She dropped the knife on the table and tried to see through her tears and the colors exploding in her eyes.

After a few seconds, her view had cleared and she finally realized with sober mind the gigantic problem that had suddenly and without any warning invaded her life: The latex skin was unharmed, it was not even slightly scratched! She was really imprisoned, it was impossible to escape her black shell, and not only that, it had even become one with her body, merged with it ... and it was feeling so very good. Actually, the echos of the painful knife attempt began to change into a cozy feeling, like her transformed body would take any and all physical sensations and somehow turn them into a form of caress. It was almost like a humming inside of her shoulder.

Or was that the washing machine? The thing was going at full speed now, and it was annoyingly loud. Out of reflex, her hand touched the machine (it was placed between cooking stove and sink). Whow, the vibrations were amplified through her new skin. She kept holding her hand against the front panel, and while the latex was massaged and vibrated and again gave here this mind-blowing experience of being injected with thick pure latex joy, it felt like her fingers became softer and softer. She concentrated on the feeling, and there could be no doubt: Her hand was feeling as if it was becoming liquid under the strong vibrating pressure - a strange but definitely very pleasant sensation! She pulled her hand back, which was not easy: It's not like she lost motor control ... but she had to forcefully overcome her enjoyment. It was that strong. Only her hand, vibrated by the machine. "Oh my God." She breathed deeply, looked at the machine like under hypnosis. It was still going at full speed.

She climbed onto the machine, sitting her latex rump heavily on the vibrating box, knowing she might never find the willpower to pull herself from what was probably ... hopefully ... ahead. Oh yes. Oh baby. The feeling was sooooo good. Strong vibrations running firmly through her thighs and through her rubber feet that she pressed outstretched against the front of the machine. Smooth latex gliding back and forth over her flesh - well, she had kind of understood now that the latex had actually become her flesh. The gliding feeling was its way to describe the contact with anything it touched. And as expected - her body began to feel as if it increasingly liquefied. The vibrations were so strong that she felt as if she dissolved more and more into pure latex bliss, not just on the surface like an oily gliding massage, but all through. And of course she was getting incredibly aroused. She closed her eyes and based her hands on the washing machine. Her perception was so clear, she could count every single of the 800 RPM. She did a double take and realized, yes, she could count them. All of them. Insane. And the forceful vibrations seemed to liquefy her up to the very top of her head. She was now merely an emotion with a physical rubber presence. And the emotion was heavenly bliss. Felicity! "Oh God, I'm so fucking horny, it feels sooo gooood, oh yes."

She was speaking and thinking in parallel, it was different words, but the meaning was the same: She was experiencing indescribable bliss with every inch of her skin and every ... liter of her body. She couldn't help but think and tell how good it felt, how happy she was, didn't stop, even invented some words in the process, then eventually ceased all articulation and just sang and moaned and wailed the insane unearthly brutally strong pleasure with the pure voice of the unadulterated carnal horniness of an angel being raped by God. It was all-encompassing, massive, pervading, invading, battering, a pleasure force as if the Universe was screaming at her "FEEL!" with mind obliterating voice. She was lust itself. Bliss. Nothing else. What other people only feel ... she was it, the thing itself. At the blooming peak of what seemed like an infinite orgasm, she only breathed, very very heavily, while being blinded by strongest feelings and colors and lights that just manifested in her mind. Then she calmed down, went quiet, everything flatlined ... and all the descriptions of her bliss she had uttered while the heavenly caress had replaced her entire being with perfect lust and pleasure, they all poured into one, and she thought with her godlike clarity: "I am! I exist!"

There was nothing but this understanding, and she experienced it with her whole being. For minutes. While the relentless machine was still sending pulses of caress right into her gooey latex pussy. Then she slowly became aware of her surroundings again. Oh my God, this bliss was too much for just one person. All the orgasms of her lifetime at once would only be a shadow against ... this. She was weak, but still full of Light. She considered getting up, but she was incapable, her mind and body limp. The machine kept massaging her shapely latex presence, and she could just not control herself under that kind of stimulation. The more she became aware of the world around her again, the more she again felt the caressing vibrating oily latex massage and thus began another helpless journey into bliss. She could not stop or slow down. She was so relaxed and so secure. And so wet! Her love slime was downright flowing out of her screamingly horny fuckhole, lewdly creeping over her perverted body, enshrouding the strange latex beast invisibly in a gooey cocoon that induced even more willingness to be nothing but living sex, calling for even more juices ... She came several dozens of times, with the same intensity as before, was washed away entirely by the purest Light of bliss and the best and deepest fuck to ever have happened anywhere in the cosmos.

Finally the love torture died down. No, it was not exhaustion, let alone her (nonexistent) ability to remove herself from this situation. The machine had completed the program. She realized, just somehow knew with certainty, that if the machine had malfunctioned and had just continued the spinning cycle for days ... yes, this would have been her reality, her fate. She would have had absolutely no will or physical ability to pull herself from this prison. For a moment, she imagined to be shackled to a version of the machine explicitly designed to never ever stop, and having a water feeding tube in her mouth that would keep refreshing her ... and allow her to keep invisibly soiling herself ... while singing the praises of bliss from the beloved forced machine fuck. And being permanently raped, like this, inside a glass cage in the most public of places. Oh my God, she absolutely loved this thought, and a little afterglow orgasm kissed her overly juicy love pudding once more. Then she slid from the machine and, overwhelmed by emotion, kissed and licked it a few times while hugging the metal box.

Slowly, very very slowly, the sound of bliss in herself grew dim, she could feel how the inside of her shapely latex form became somewhat solid again. And she felt how incredibly relaxed her body was, like she had never been under stress or fear in her whole life. She was now incapable of fear. She had lost the ability. She had been reformatted, reinstalled with a new operating system. With whimsical freedom, she again peed into her latex skin, even forced it a little, and it was so cozy and warm. What had happened to her, how could it be that she had been transformed into a being of pure free bliss? What had she done, who had decided for that? Could this be just an accident?

Could she stay like this? Please?